Flipping the Coin
by LookedLikeGiants
Summary: A Callie-Erica story. Starts after elevator business, and goes on through some dark drama of going into something neither of them expect, or know how to deal with. Feedback is always appreciated. Seriously.
1. Heads or Tails

Author's Note:

Okay, so I was under the impression of Hahn's character not being completely gay, and that's by which this story is written. This is my first stab at fan fiction; I've never done one before. At all. So, that being said, comments and reviews are mucho appreciado (yeah I know that probably wasn't even near the right word for appreciated. So sue me.). However I have to add I would really like to NOT get completely crucified with your reviews. Also, if I get enough reviews and whatnot than this won't be a one shot….cause I don't know about you but those drive me off the freakin' wall haha…yeah…. I stopped it short cause I'm not 100 percent what people are looking for. So, please review. Thanks!

Disclaimer: 

I don't own Grey's Anatomy, or any of the characters. They belong to Shonda Rhimes, and ABC. (Sadly :D)

_The music flooded her veins like ten shots of tequila, and was just as heady. Her blonde hair was matted against her forehead and neck- she'd forgotten the golden rule: always bring a hair tie when dancing. Taking a break, she threaded her way through the crowd, back to the table she shared with _her. _She looked around for her best friend, and there she was, dancing in a tight knot of people. But, tonight would be the night, the blonde decided, that'd she'd dance with her. Somehow, she'd had this feeling that if she danced with her best friend then it'd be too weird. Ah well, she decided and threw caution to the wind. It was, after all, a calculated risk. Once more taking a sip from her drink at the table, she headed out to the dance floor, making a beeline to the knot with her friend in the middle. "Do you want to dance with me?" she tried shouting over the music. Her best friend laughed and nodded. And for the next half hour they danced, hips swaying to the music in a symphony of perfect synchronization. And when her best friend placed her hands just so on her hips, so that she nearly swooned and-_

-woke up. Completely saturated in sweat, but woken up all the same. Erica sat up so fast she felt light headed. Her sheets were soaked with sweat and she shivered slightly, staring at nothing while her brain was in turmoil. Erica felt slightly betrayed. Her brain was supposed to be logical. Cool. Calculated. Not like this. Not _even remotely _like this. For the simple fact was that she, Erica Hahn, Head of Cardiothoracics at Seattle Grace Hospital, just had a grossly sweaty dream with her best friend- Callie Torres. She put her head in her hands and sighed, looking out of her apartment window at the Seattle skyline, the tell tale needle knifing through to stand alone, yet surrounded. Ah well, Erica was never one for sentimentality. She got up, rinsed her face and returned to her bed to try and get some sleep, hoping she could do more than stare at the ceiling. Ever since the elevator, her mind had been spinning. I mean, sure, I did it to get under Sloan's skin, right? _Right? _She tried to approach this logically. A kiss was just a kiss, that's all. It wasn't like she and Callie did anything overly crazy like start to stri- never mind, she firmly told her brain. That's enough. She wasn't usually attracted to women; As if to reiterate her point, she thought of the day where she talked to Sloan (aka 'Prettier' of 'Pretty and Prettier') and told him they'd probably be an item if they didn't wok together. She'd learned in the past, far too well, how well relationships worked at the job place: they didn't.

_So there,_ she told herself. She wasn't attracted to Callie. And that was that. _For now, _whispered her subconscious. Stubbornly, she told her brain where it could shove _that _particular thought and rolled over to attempt sleep once more- this time, hopefully dream free.

--

"Hey Callie!"

"Hi…hello….Erica...," Callie muttered in response.

"What's the matter with you?" Erica asked with a smile.

"Ah, nothing," she answered, stuttering over her answer like an idiot. And then Sloan, damn Mark Sloan, opened his mouth and contributed his two cents: "Yeah, you look all hot and bothered," he added with a knowing smirk on his obscenely handsome face, raising his eyebrows. Callie got flustered and couldn't stop herself, prattling on about traumas, and how it was a big trauma. Erica's smile from before slipped into the type of frown one gives to a potential maniac, and Bailey made an observation that was pretty much felt by all: "You're acting weird." Mark, still smiling, leaned closer and murmured under his breath, "And she uses one finger to-"

"REALLY big trauma!" Callie nearly shouted to get him to shut up and stop with his dirty talk. Erica still frowned at her as she walked past. Dammit.

The entire day, it was like some unseen cord was being tightened between the two, not helped during the moment when Hahn leaned across her and asked for pulse when Callie had to make the incision to relieve the pressure on Cement Boy's leg. Neither was it helped when Callie was standing in the scrub room and Mark, of all people, _Mark_, talked to her in the scrub room during her break. Alas, Callie thought, it doesn't matter I'll just clear my head with Mark and call it a day. It was the weekend, and frankly, she wanted to run away from SGH, run far away from all her problems. "So you wanna finish what we started yesterday?" Callie asked with a 'come-hither' smile. Mark looked off and answered, "Or you can finish what you started." Callie followed his gaze. Dammit. Again.

--

Erica wanted out. She desperately, NEEDED to get out and away from work. A migraine the size of Kansas was embedded deeply into her brain, not aided by any of the events of today. First, the whole elevator scene from yesterday like lodged in her brain like a bit of almond in one's tooth. And second, getting upstaged by Yang and basically getting a rebuke from _Richard _about learning how to teach. She'd had just enough humiliation for one day. And to top off one of the shittiest days she'd had since first coming to SGH, she couldn't find her keys so that she could just go home. That's all she wanted. Home.

Impatiently, she riffled through her bag when she heard the clop of heels and Callie said, "Hey. I wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink…"

"I can't find my keys," Erica muttered darkly. And now, with Callie, her best friend that she kissed in the elevator, the one she'd had a sweaty dancing dream about, was standing literally, within reach. _Oh God Erica! What are you doing! What are you thinking?? _She wailed mentally. Ever since coming here, her emotions had been severely compromised, and having Callie standing there, asking if she wanted a drink, made matters no better. Erica dimly realized Callie was talking. She answered, her body and brain frozen and on auto pilot. The most inspiring thing that came out of her mouth was another complaint about her keys.

"Erica."

The blonde's head jerked up. That tone begged for audience-no, rather _demanded _audience. And an attentive one at that. "What?"

"….I'm saying something here," Callie said, raising her eyebrows with a slight smile. _Stop looking for your damn precious keys! _Erica mentally chastised herself. _Your best friend, yeah, the one you kissed, but your best friend none the less, is trying to talk to you! _Callie fidgeted like a trouble maker in detention. "Look, I just wanted to say…"she began. She swallowed nervously. The loud click from her throat made her mix her words up even more. She took a deep breath and stared at Erica's soft blue eyes and then at her lips.

"Just wanted to say...-" and quite suddenly, Erica Hahn's world exploded into a tiny million different pieces, each more tiny that the last. Callie's hands felt like some sort of panacea on her face and her tongue like warm, dark honey, teasing Erica's bottom lip to open. Once the sledge hammer of shock wore off, Erica responded in kind, lips responded and tongue coming out to greet the other woman's. Her hands came up to cup Callie's face. Her smooth ivory fingers were nested in the other's ebony hair, while Callie's caramel colored hands were entwined in Erica's gold-spun waves. Erica liked the connection. There was a quick break, where they both looked at each other and smiled and resumed kissing, tongues dancing a slow ballet around each other, neither woman knowing that Mark lurked in the shadows and preening like a self satisfied fox. He slinked away with that same smile on his face, but this time touched with a slight bit of ruefulness. But again, neither woman knew or even cared at that moment, content to explore the possibilities, physically and mentally, secure in the thought that there was no way something this good could ever end badly.

...Right?


	2. Just Getting Started

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

Alright, so first off I want to thank those who reviewed- most def appreciated and also, reviews to me are like spinach to Popeye, so those were nice. :) Also, with the second part I had to take a minute of some hardcore thinking to see what I thought/wanted to happen next. This here, I hope, is good enough to live up to expectations. And sorry if there's typos and what not- I try to catch all those, but if you see any, again I apologize. Read 'n' Review and tell me your ideas and thoughts on where it could go. Rated T for a little language….I don't want to get busted, so I'm playing it safe…

Disclaimer: 

I don't own Grey's, or the characters in the story. They, along with the rights, belong to Shonda Rhimes and ABC.

Neither knew how long it had been since they began kissing, right in front of God and anyone else who cared to look, but, on the flip side, neither really cared. But, like most good things, it had to come to an end. They stood, breathing hard, Callie's Nutella-brown eyes never looking away from the intense blue of Erica's own. Never breaking eye contact, Callie's hand fell away from Erica's face and dived into her pocket, bringing out her keys with a soft jingle. "Yang's not going to be home- she'll be too busy with her interns," Callie whispered, and smiling the 'come-hither' smile that drove Erica off the wall. The blonde smiled back. She stepped out of Callie's arm, relinquishing the warmth for a second before she picked up her bag and followed Callie to her car.

During the drive to Callie's place (technically, Yang's place, but Erica glossed over that slightly inconvenient fact for now) there was silence in the car, punctuated with smirks and laughing when they both locked eyes and looked away. Of course, they were both professionals in their respective fields but in this one, neither had experience. When they finally got to the door, Callie's hand was shaking so bad so that the key chattered around the lock. Erica gently yet firmly captured Callie's hand within her own and guided the key into the lock, turning her hand so the tumblers fell into place, all the while never breaking eye contact. Callie's blood was a slightly muted rushing roar in her ears and her heart was so tightly lodged in her throat she doubted that'd it ever be the same. _Hey hun, wake up. Your heart _isn't _going to be the same after tonight._

Erica followed Callie in the apartment and closed the door behind her with a quiet snap. Callie turned and looked at Erica, her best-friend-turned-she-wasn't-sure-yet. They both moved a few steps forward and met halfway; reinitiating the kiss they shared in front of SGH. Callie had her hands on Erica's shoulders and slid them under her jacket, peeling off the jacket as her hands traveled down Erica's arms, igniting goose bumps as she went. The tan colored jacket fell to the floor, and so did Callie's dark leather one as Erica did the same to Callie. The brunette used her nails to gently skim her arms, making Erica's shiver and go hot and cold all over once more, and slowly slid them up, entangling her fingers in the supreme softness of the hairs at the nape of her neck. During this, Erica's hands found their way under Callie's shirt and her nails were making small circles on her soft skin of her back, driving Callie's crazy. She turned and, never breaking contact, began to guide Erica to the couch. The blond sat on the arm rest with a bump and a quiet laugh. Still kissing, Erica's hand wandered down to the hem of Callie's shirt, giving the brunette a pleasant lurch in her stomach as she processed what was probably going to happen. And once the moment was shattered into fragments as delicate as busted china glass, it was truly shattered, never to be the same ever, _ever _again.

--

She was officially getting her groove back and the sparkle pager, with its 'sacred sparkle' as Izzie called it, was playing the tune. Christina hummed a song, dreamily rehashing the day and all of its perfect-ness. She had gotten in on Cement Boy. She had gotten on top of her game once more, getting out from under Hahn and impressing the Chief. So basically, nothing, _nothing _at all could spoil this day. Except maybe walking into your apartment and seeing your roommate and friend, Callie, kissing and being on top of the woman who was supposed to be teaching Christina the finer points of Cardio. "D-D-Dr. Hahn! Callie!" Christina sputtered. _Oh man, this had to be a hallucination. It _had _to be. It was just…just the chemicals in her brain, was all. Chemicals triggered by what a euphoric day she had, that's all, _Christina told herself. Except the big difference was that she knew it wasn't. Christina wasn't a neurosurgeon, but even she knew that the scene in front of her was no hallucination. The two on the couch were both gaping at Christina in shock. "Gotta go!" She blurted. She then fled, turning away and high tailing it for all she was worth.

And then shame came, and drenched the whole apartment in a thick layer. Erica was the first to react, moving out from under Callie and clumsily trying to gather her jacket and purse. "Erica, I-"Callie began, hurriedly trying to stand up. "No. No. No, its fine I- It was my fault anyways, I should've ever kissed you, I should've- just never have kissed you," Erica said thickly, already walking towards the door. Callie realized that her friend, Erica, who was the infamous Dr. Hahn, Ice Queen, was about to thaw and start to cry. And with that realization came the feeling that her heart was being torn out of her chest and being run over with monster trucks with snow chains on them. Erica spared one last look over at her shoulder at Callie, still standing next to the couch with her eyes, those terribly sweet dark brown eyes beseeching her to stay, with an arm outstretched. "I-I'm sorry. This–I- good bye," she said, voice faltering, turning away before she spilled any tears. She couldn't show any weakness- she was Erica Hahn, one of, if not THE top Cardiothoracic Surgeon in the country, and she couldn't show any weakness. Because if she did, then she just might have her heart obliterated, busted into splinters. And if that happened, it wouldn't matter if she was the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the _world_- she couldn't operate on herself.

After Erica had gone, Callie slumped on the couch and began to cry silently, big, burning tears that rolled down her face. Goddammit, this was just like George-AGAIN- except she was losing two things: her best friend, and potential something else. Just when she thought she was getting all healed and ready, this had to happen. Christina had to happen. Christina had to come in here and-and-and screw everything up. Callie gave a hitching sob and swept all the contents of the coffee table onto the floor in frustration and glaring at the mess unhappily. She knew what she had to do: talk to Erica. See what was going to happen. Of course, that was easier said than done. She didn't know how long she sat on the couch before coming to her senses and finally acting on her previous conclusion. She pulled out her phone and flicked it open and hit speed dial 2, anxiously holding the phone to her ear after making sure the call was connecting. Each ring was like a knife in the heart but she wouldn't give up. Her name was Calliope Iphegenia Torres, and she wouldn't give up.

--

_I will not cry. I do not cry. I will not cry. I do not cry. _It was the mantra that kept her together up until this point, but now, with the safety of home approaching, Erica's tears that she valiantly tried to keep from overflowing from her eyes began to leak. And when she paid the cabbie and muttered something about keeping the change, it was more than a leak- it was a flood. She could hardly see where she was going. Her hand dived in her pocket and she then remembered that she still didn't find her god forsaken keys. She dropped to her knees in front of her door and fumbled to get the spare key from behind a loose, slightly warped board that made up one side of the flower box. Her vision was so blurry with tears that the bronze key clattered around the lock. But this time, there was no comforting hand to comfort her and guide her hand in the lock. Finally she angrily wiped her tears away and sniffed, letting out a small sob. Dammit. _I will not cry. I do not cry. _She repeated this as a mantra as she finally got her damn door opened and stepped inside, walking fast to her kitchen. She slung her purse onto the table but the buckle came loose, spilling the contents onto the surface. She didn't pay attention though- she needed something to drink. Her hands shook so bad it was a miracle she'd even got into her house in the first place.

She needed something to take at least what had happened away. She couldn't afford to think about anything right now, or else she'd break, and fall apart. And she, Erica Hahn, who prided herself on keeping her work life separate from her love life, who prided herself on always thinking calmly and rationally, couldn't afford to fall apart. Rummaging through her cabinets, she found what she was looking for: a bottle of untouched wine. Grabbing a wineglass from the clean dishes on the strainer next to the sink, she also snagged the corkscrew. She successfully opened the bottle on the first try, which was another miracle- her hands were still shaking and her eyes kept leaking tears. After she downed her first glass, she finally calmed down- sorta. At least she wasn't shaking anymore. And she was more aware of her environment- like the sound of her phone buzzing angrily on the kitchen table, as it had been doing for who knows how long, demanding her to pick up. Erica sat heavily at the table and pulled the phone towards her, even though she knew who would be calling at this time. Callie. Another thing she couldn't deal with. She kept drinking her wine from her glass, and kept listening to her phone buzz through the night. Caught between answering it, and smashing it against the wall, Erica did none. She simply watched as the screen lit up, buzzed for a bit and then went silent.

--

Come Monday, it was hell for everyone- or, nearly everyone. Gossip had spread that 'MerDer' was back in business, and also news of Christina's clash with Hahn was all over. Enough people knew about the clashing between the two Cardio doctors, and even a few routed for Christina stickin' it to the man- figuratively.

However, when Callie walked in, she looked haggard. She stared at her phone the entire weekend, lighting up when she felt its buzz and then almost crying when she realized it wasn't Erica. Still, Callie was amazed that the whole hospital wasn't looking at her sideways, and the only logical explanation was that Christina didn't tell, for which Callie wasn't sure to be grateful to Christina or kick her ass from here to Timbuktu. She walked to the board and noticed she had a surgery in half an hour. Good. Something familiar and nice would get her back in the swing of things. So she hoped.

However, it was to be another week until Callie had a chance to talk to Erica. The schedule was all over the damn place. And that, combined with someone who doesn't want to be found, well, made that someone hard to find. Erica, during that week, was forced to teach Yang, which was unspeakable awkward. Doing her best, because the sooner she taught her, the sooner it'd be done, Erica instructed Yang stiffly. The resident hardly dared to look at her, and kept her eyes firmly upon the person whom they were operating on.

When the two finally did talk, it was exactly one week after that horrifying night at the apartment. This night found Erica at her laptop, typing with a wineglass near at hand. A pounding on the door made her sigh and click her tongue in irritation. She'd just gotten started. Standing, she walked over to the door, the glow of the computer dimly showing what she'd began to type.

_I hereby regret to inform you of my resignation…._

Author's Note: 

I apologize if it seemed a little rushed at the end. I tried to get this up and out so again, if it seems rush I apologize. So please review- I mean, it takes like only a few minutes to say 'I did/didn't like this…' etc  so please, review! Thanks!


	3. Keys

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

Thanks once more for the reviews. I hope to benefit from the constructive criticism, so here goes. Also, once more, I apologize for the typos. I really try to proofread but I guess more than a few slip through. Bear with me heh. Also, in this chapter I tried to give Mark a more predominant role in moving the plot along. If you'd rather he not be in it or whatever, let me know. Also, I'm trying to introduce more medical terms for realism- hop onto wikipedia if you don't know what they are. Please read and review! :D

Disclaimer:

Nope, still not mine. Grey's belongs to Shonda Rhimes and ABC.

The tile was cold to her feet as she padded across to answer the door. Erica opened it and promptly wished to slam it shut. Her problems could follow her home, it seemed. But as soon as her neurons fired that thought, Erica wanted to slap herself. Callie Torres was NOT a problem. Christina _Yang, _Burke's _Yang_, however, was. There was a huge line between those two.

Callie stood in the porch light, looking like a defiantly haggard angel. The light cast a halo-like ring of light around her sleek ebony hair and reflected off the earrings she wore. Weariness, exhaustion and simple loneliness were written in her face and Erica could tell that that face hadn't given a smile in a long time. Yet Callie stood her ground, and Erica doubted very much could've moved her from the doorstep. And before she could stop herself, Erica said the unofficial ice breaker:

"Torres, I leave you for a week and this is how bad you get? I'd hate to see you before I got hired!" Mildly horrified, Erica bit her lips, appalled at her loss of self control. She was supposed to be cool. Calm. Collected. Hah. Bullshit. Not any more, apparently. _Suuuaaavee, Erica Hahn. Your best friend comes to your doorstep, looking to solve things and that's the best you can come up with? _She wanted to kick her own ass. It was quite possibly the most inappropriate thing to say at a time like this.

Yet, Callie began to laugh, a deep belly laugh that Erica loved to hear and join in on. Except this time, she didn't. This time, Callie's laughter disintegrated and she broke down, her chuckles transforming into sobs as she threw herself into Erica's arms, who wasn't quite expecting the sudden change.

Bearing the other woman's weight, Erica kicked the door shut and half supported/ half dragged the other to the couch in the front room to the right. "Erica, I tried-you didn't answer- and-and-and then I-I tried to c-c-catch you at lunch and t-then you weren't there and then I-," Callie stuttered between gasping for air and sobbing. "Shh," Erica crooned, gently stroking Callie's ebony hair and planting a kiss on top of her head.

Erica officially deduced that she deserved the inevitable stab of guilt that entered her heart and was firmly lodged there. Well actually, it was more of a prison shank of guilt. And the simple fact was this: she'd done this. Erica Hahn had done this to her best friend, Callie Torres. Sure, she had her break down, but she kept it so tightly under wraps that she'd become a real class A bitch, even mouthing off to Webber more than once.

And the only way she dealt with it was to release when she was safely at home, ensconced in the relative safety of her shower where she'd cry her heart out, wishing, wishing dearly she'd just stayed in that apartment, wishing dearly that she'd just answer her phone on the first night and the nights; just wishing dearly she had been a best friend. So it was now she fulfilled that obligation, gently rocking Callie with tears coming out of both their eyes.

...

Sunlight slanted through the windows, and finally into Callie's eyes. She blearily woke up and blinked them a few times, while sitting up. Her eyes were sore as hell and as she surveyed her surroundings she realized where she was, along with what happened. It seemed a mountain of used tissues sat like a sentinel next to a very nearly depleted tissue box. Callie looked down and was temporarily disoriented all over again.

_Did we…? _She asked herself silently. The answer was no- she was fully clothed, and was surprised to find a rueful pang in her head. _Whoa Callie. Take it easy. _She saw who was lying down next to her and smiled. The solid, warm and comforting form of Erica Hahn, that's who. Callie smiled another rueful grin as she thought on those words- probably words that no one else in the entire world would probably use to describe the heart doctor. Her blonde hair was a sun-burst on the couch cushion and when the sun's beams grasped Erica's hair it seemed to turn into a kaleidoscope colors, all tinted red so that she looked like a strawberry blonde.

Callie got up and finger combed her hair back into some sort of semblance of a hairstyle and then made her way upstairs to the bathroom. When she came back down stairs, the welcome growl of the coffee bean grinder served as a notice that Erica was awake, which meant, in turn, that they'd have to talk. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the kitchen and sat at the table, murmuring a greeting as she did so. Her mind was going a mile a minute trying to figure out how this should go. Would they still be friends? Would they still be able to bitch of the mundane grind of work? Would they be able to laugh and talk as they used to?

"Callie."

"Eh?" She was pulled out of her musings and saw there was a mug of vanilla bean coffee, steam rising out of it. It was black, plain and simple, just the way she liked it. How she only wished life could be that way. Taking a sip, she dared to look at Erica, who was staring down at her own mug.

"Look, I'm just going to say this: I think we should gloss over this," Erica began, frowning at her mug and tracing the rim with a steady finger. Callie jerked her head up and stared at Erica. "W-what…?" Callie asked faintly. Forget? _Forget? _This? She had to be kidding. "For now I mean," Erica clarified. "I don't know about you, but I have a feeling today's going to be stressful enough as it as, without-" At this point, she waved her hand to indicate their present situation-"this."

"Drinks at Joe's, then?" Callie asked, raising her eyebrows. Erica opened her mouth, seemed to rethink what she was going to say, then nodded. They returned to sipping their drinks, both comforted by the fact that they'd be able to resolve this, one way or another, that night. "Oh and Callie?"

"Hm?"

"Can you give me a ride? I still can't find my keys."

...

They were late, a fact that caused Callie great road rage on the way to work. The two rushed into the locker rooms, hurriedly changing into scrubs. Erica let out a soft fustrated growl. "I'm late for a CABG," she muttered as she yanked her pant scrubs on. "Hey, we all got problems. I got a hip arthroplasty in five," Callie answered, her voice becoming muffled for just a second as she pulled her scrubs over her head. She left first, leaving with an airy "See you at lunch." Erica smiled to herself as Callie left- it seemed they could possibly still be just friends, if all else failed. She looked at the clock and swore. She grabbed her surgical cap and, in her hurry, threw her bag in her locker, not noticing the small, lumpy envelope at the bottom.

"Heparin."

"Heparin injected, Dr. Hahn."

Ah yes. This was her zone- the place where she felt most comfortable. Suturing the cannulae, Erica nodded she was ready to start bypass.

"Clamp." The nurse handed her the instrument with a satisfying thwack onto her gloved hand.

"Yang."

"Yes, Dr. Hahn," the resident answered, who still avoided looking at her if she could help it. "What's next?" Erica asked, stepping back and nodding her head in the direction of the patient. "Cross clamp the aorta and attach the harvested grafts," Yang answered. Erica nodded her head in the direction of the patient. "Then do it."

...

The prosthesis fit and settled in quite nicely, if she said so herself. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is a wrap," Callie said finally, after suturing up the incision. Pulling off her gloves she moved to the scrub room, thinking about lunch. _If there was a God somewhere out there_, she thought, _then lunch will not be awkward_. On her way to the cafeteria, Sloan appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey Callie. Want to go to an on call room?" He invited, raising his eyebrows and smiling a smile that could only be described as wolfish.

"What happened to the new leaf?" She countered, pointedly not looking at him as she walked. Possibly one of the worst situations to happen for Callie would to go into on-call room and miss lunch. True, she'd done it before, but it was almost like lunch was a simple prologue of the drinks to be had later on, and Callie felt that Erica might take it as an insult to not show up for lunch. Thus, she wasn't going to be tempted by Mark's offer. He shrugged airily. "I'm a man. I don't need to change who I am if I'm not ready," he said with a grin. Callie rolled her eyes and pushed the doors open to the cafeteria-and stopped dead in her tracks.

It was like a replay of this morning. Sunlight streamed in through the notorious grey of Seattle's weather patterns and landed on Erica's hair, making it seem something very close to some sort of modern, revamped Botticelli's Angel. Except this one was doing something as mundane as sipping out of a cup with a straw.

"Callie. You there?" Mark asked, nudging the other doctor with his shoulder. "Uh yeah-just was. Um….just was looking for Erica," Callie mumbled. Mark smiled knowingly at her and nodded. "Yep, looks like you found her," he answered in a tone that suggested he knew far more than he let on. Callie, in a slight daze, didn't answer.

The two doctors went and got trays and seated themselves at Erica's table. Erica greeted Callie with a smile and a greeting and Mark with a nod and a curt "Sloan." Unperturbed by her attitude, Mark plowed cheerfully on. "So how was your Sapphic salad?" He asked. Erica's head swiveled away from the window to him and Callie's head jerked up from the salad she was about to eat. The two women exchanged glances and instantly knew how this was going to go down. "Delicious," they answered in unison. And then, like Mark had never said anything, Erica went back to contemplating the view outside the window, sipping her water and Callie went on eating her own lunch.

However, on the other hand, Mark looked like a little boy in the Willy Wonka Candy Factory with all the keys. During the course of lunch, he opened his mouth a few times to say something then apparently changed his course, instead placing a smile on his face as he jovially ate his sandwich.

...

The day passed in bumps and jolts, passing ever closer to when the appointed time for drinks would come. Callie would look at the clock, and wish for the hours to go slower, not wanting to partake in the severe awkwardness that would probably take place. But yet, during that same hour, she'd glance at the clock once more and hope the hour hand would turn like it had its ass on fire to get it over with, but alas, she realized she couldn't have it both ways. And when the time came for her shift to end, Callie squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and walked to the lockers, trying to compose what she'd say in her head as each step took her closer to Erica.

As it happened, Erica reached the locker rooms first- she'd just completed rounds and her patient's room was close by. Sighing, she pulled off her polka-dot scrub cap and spun her lock with a mind on auto pilot. She, too, was trying to think of what to say. She tried to approach this logically, although, looking back on the events of the last two weeks, that didn't seem to be working very well. But, she'd try again. Of course, she could just say 'Let's just be friends- no relationships in the workplace,' although that'd be impossible, like telling the sun to stop shining. Of she could just roll with it, and actually go into a romantic relationship, although she wasn't sure she wanted to take that step. A third option was to go with what Callie thought- but, if both decided that same option, then they'd be at the same place, and be at square 1 all over again.

Changing back into her clothes, Erica pulled her brush from her purse and ran through her golden-rod hair. She was about to close her locker and call it a day when something foreign caught her eye. Erica was incredibly neat and organized- Callie had heckled her about many a time- so it was no surprise when she noticed something she was sure she didn't put in her locker. It was a lumpy, red envelope, with 'E. Hahn' written on the side in an untidy scrawl.

Mystified, she bent down to retrieve it from the bottom of her locker and casually glanced around to see if anyone was waiting to leap out, thinking it be quite the gas to play a joke on the Ice Queen, Dr. Hahn. She looked inside and-she'd be goddamned- there were her keys! Frowning now- she didn't like being made a fool of- she noticed a piece of memo with the same handwriting on it. Her frown increased into a glaring scowl when she reached the end of the note.

_E. Hahn, _

_Here's your keys back. I figure, after tonight you'll probably need 'em back. Ah yes, pick-pocketing. A useful skill I learned that helped put me through college. It's okay, you don't have to thank me. _

_M. Sloan_


	4. Something Unexpected

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

Thanks for the reviews. You guys are awesome. :D This is like a chapter three and a half- I'm going outta town for a few days, but as soon as I get back I'll probably write more if people want more. Again, I encourage ya'll to leave some love and tell me what you want/ think!

Okay, so I've also thrown around the idea of advancing their 'relations' if you catch my drift…but again, not sure what people so we shall see. Drop me line! Feedback is always welcome- just don't gut me with it. :D

Disclaimer: 

Nope, still not mine.

When Callie opened the door to the locker room about ten minutes later, she found Erica sitting down on the bench with her head hung. "Erica? What's wron-" Callie began, but was brusquely interrupted by Erica. "So how long have you and your boy toy _Sloan _been playing at this?" She asked. Her voice was silkily cold with anger and emotion that was tight under rein. Callie was completely set back on her heels.

"I-what? What are you talking about?" she demanded, taking a few steps closer. "_This_," the other hissed, flicking the red envelope and its message so that it slid all the way to the end of the bench. Thoroughly bemused and confused as hell, Callie bent to pick it up and read the message, lips moving slowly as she read it. And slowly her blood drained away from her face, making her feel sick all over. Sloan. Mark-goddamn-Sloan had orchestrated the entire thing that happened after work on Cement Boy day. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, although she suspected she was closer to doing the latter, if the tightness in her throat and the burning in her eyes was any indication. And she had just enough crying to last her for a lifetime during these last two weeks.

"Look," Erica was saying, "if you and him have any more- _jokes_-" she said the word with enough disgust to make Callie flinch-"to play on me, then save 'em Callie, 'cause I'm done. I'm done," she repeated in a voice as hard as steel, gathering up her things. And with that, Erica rose to leave the locker room and this whole entire goddamn mess behind. The only problem was that Callie wouldn't let her.

"No, _you _look," Callie answered in a voice just as cold. "If you think this all just a fuckin' joke thought up by Mark and me, then you need to do some serious attitude adjustment. I had no idea that he could even think up something like this. The fact that he did is amazing by itself- I mean, it's Mark we're talking about here. And quite frankly, I can't believe that you, _you of all people,_ who know me, better than anyone else, would believe that." She took a deep breath after her tirade. Erica opened her mouth and started to walk forward, but again, Callie cut her off, stepping closer as well and launching another counter.

"So go ahead, _Erica, _walk out of that door if you wish, go ahead and walk out, 'cause if you do then it's a reminder that you just quit. And so help me, I'll never speak to you again," Callie ended in a rush. Dammit. That last part was so hard to say, like trying to talk while having a huge chicken bone splinter in your throat. Yet she meant every word- right? If Erica, Erica, of all people, thought that her feelings were something cooked up by Mark, then fine. She just wouldn't go to the cafeteria for lunch. And she'd avoid any traumas with heart problems with it as well so they couldn't work together. And she'd just-

"Callie," Erica said softly, her voice no more than a throaty whisper that sent shivers up and down Callie's spine like someone trailing their finger down a piano. "What?!" She shouted shrilly, nerves frayed to the edge of completely shutting down. It was a long day, she just wanted to rest. _I mean, really, does she absolutely _have _to do this? I just wish she'd-she'd go or-or-or say something and stop playing Cat's Cradle with my emotions. Is that so hard to ask? _Callie thought nervously, waiting for the other's response. Instead, Erica did neither. Taking Callie's face in her hands, Erica kissed her.

And this time, it wasn't the usual slow exploration that they had done in the past. Erica was kissing her like Armageddon was in five minutes and this was the last time to say goodbye. Callie responded in kind, eagerly entangling her hands in Erica's hair. The locker space was relatively cramped, but they made best as they could. Erica tossed her purse away and didn't even look to see where it landed. Callie tore off her sky blue scrub cap and let it follow suit to fall to the floor, breaking the kiss momentarily to shake free her hair so that it cascaded in an ebony water fall, descending on Erica's hands with a silky coolness. Fire was in both of them, like some insatiable beast that had begun to come out of lurking in the shadows ever since Addison had made that innocuous comment about the Vagina Monologues.

Among her drug like haze in her head produced by the pleasure chemicals, Callie made a mental note to call Addie and thank her. This probably wouldn't have happened as soon as it did if Addie hadn't said something and planted the idea.

Callie felt a gentle tug on a lock of her hair. "Hey. You still there?" Erica asked with a smile and a soft laugh. Callie nodded and grinned impishly. "More than you know." And she plunged in once more. Erica's jacket once more joined her purse on the floor, and Callie's scrub top a few moments later, leaving her still in a solid black three-quarters length shirt. They broke their kiss looking hard at each other, panting, each inspecting their own feelings, and apparently liking what they saw for they continued making out.

Their bodies were comfortably close together; there seemed enough heat in the locker room to cause the windows to fog up. But when Callie's pager, still clipped to her scrub pants, buzzed between them, they both jumped back and let out a shaky giggle, hormones still in severe overdrive. Callie impatiently checked it and sighed. "We got a huge trauma coming in," she said, frowning. Erica checked her own pager and noticed she got the same message. Chuckling, she looked at the brunette over her shoulder while giving the lock a few spins to clear the tumblers to get her scrubs.

"Do you think it's a REALLY big trauma?" She asked, referring to how Callie was acting on Cement Boy day. She gave another soft laugh in that slightly husky voice of hers. Callie couldn't answer; her nerve endings were lit on fire like illegal fireworks on July 4th. Her knees were still a bit shaky, so as she bent down to pick up her scrub shirt, she sat down on the bench and took a deep breath, eyes closed, trying to calm herself and her overactive hormones down. She didn't trust herself to look at Erica when she was changing into her scrubs again. "I think I should-uh- go out first and you follow…just in case someone like…uh…Sloan comes by," Callie muttered, scrubbing a hand through her hair. If she was going to handle a trauma, she needed to get her shit together, no matter how hard that was going to be. Pulling her scrub top over her head, she darted out.

………….

Two hours after their shift was supposed to end found them in the OR, with Erica trying to repair the severed left atrium and the lung punctured by two ribs. Or, more correctly, Yang was working on the heart while Erica was on the lungs. Cardiothoracics did include the lungs as well as the heart, after all. She had to admit grudgingly, Yang did have talent and skill to a certain extent.

Erica patched the lung and bumped into Callie more than once, looking at her over her surgical mask with a thousand feelings in every glance. Callie resisted the intense urge to, as Mark had suggested, rip off that polka-dot scrub cap and grab a handful of that blonde hair and reciprocate the kiss the blonde had given her in the locker room. As she repaired the patient's leg, she stifled a smile at what everyone's reaction would be. Mark's would probably similar to what he was like in the elevator, Bailey's eyes would widen and then she'd go back to surgery like nothing ever happened, and Webber would probably bust a nut. Speaking of whom….

"Something funny, Dr. Torres?" he asked, his gravely voice cutting across Callie's musings. "Ah…no sir, just….no sir," she answered, struggling now to contain her laughter and biting her tongue, the sting of pain not helping hold back the inevitable snort of laughter. Bailey looked up at her and glanced over to Erica, who took one last look at Callie and turned back to the lungs. And suddenly, just like that, Bailey knew. Perhaps not the most intimate details, but she definitely knew that _something _was going on. Her eyes _did _widen and she stared at Erica and Callie, alternating from one to the other. Well. Well, that was unexpected.


	5. Rising Sun

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

Alright, so I'm going to say this (and this isn't some ploy to get more reviews or anything): today, as a general thing, just plain sucked. I'm not going into details on the how or why cause this isn't the place among other factors, but rest assured, today sucked ass for me. And you want to know what turned it around? That's right- reviews. When I clicked the refresh button on my e-mail and saw reviews, seriously my day just got a million times better because it shows that I'm not just writing this just to keep my hands busy- in a non weird way- people are actually responding and what's more- they seem to like it! :D So…review! For the sake of the author's ego and the muse of said author. D Oh and my trip was cancelled, so expect faster updates. Ah yes it's at times like this being an insomniac is useful. And judging from this chapter, it looks like my muse is on steroids or something. Sorry- it's kinda long…..

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: 

Shonda, you're one lucky gal. That's all I'm going to say.

Erica stood, looking outside her window with a cup of fresh ground coffee, steam rising out of the contents of the mug. It was sunrise. By all rights, she should've gotten some sleep at least. Considering- nope, she couldn't let herself spoil the purity of the moment. Except, she did spoil it. Oh well. A violent blush worked its way up her neck, showing through the gaps in the robe she'd belted on after climbing out of bed. Her smile rivaled that of the emerging sun as she heard a sleep-soaked voice form behind her:

"Morning." Turning with her blush and smile still evident, Erica regarded Callie on her bed. She was lying stomach down with her head propped up, black hair spilling over the rumpled white sheets. Her caramel skin contrasted against the sheets, enhancing the colors of both. _Gah- she looks like a magazine ad_, Erica thought. Turning to the cup on the nightstand, she took the top off to keep the heat in and handed the mug to Callie, who was now scooted to the edge of the bed and accepted the mug gratefully.

The two watched the sunrise in quiet for a few minutes, taking a sip occasionally. Presently Erica came and sat next to Callie, setting her coffee mug on the nightstand. Callie set her head on the blonde's shoulder, without even thinking about it. It was a gesture that seemed….natural. _Huh. What ever happened to huge fan of penis? _Callie asked herself. She let the question go with a smile.

"You're going to finish your coffee, right?" She asked instead. Erica turned and gave her a quick kiss before answering. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, you're going to need the energy….," Callie murmured into Erica's ear, slowly sliding the sleeve of the robe down to kiss and nibble her way up from the shoulder to the nape of her neck. Feeling an expectant shiver, the heart surgeon lay back on the bed and said simply, "I'm ready for my procedure, doctor."

Callie laughed breathily, a bright sparkle already in her dark chocolate brown eyes. "Well that's very good, Ms. Hahn, because I think you'll agree I have impressive technique…."

And if the sounds coming out of the room in the next half hour were any indication, Callie's technique was flawless.

………..

It almost seemed that Fate itself was taking a personal interest in teasing the two, for surgeries piled up seemingly out of nowhere over the next few days. Consults, procedures and surgeries had the pair, let alone the entire hospital, scrambling to keep up. And yet, there was still enough time for shared smiles at lunch under Mark's nose and quick make out sessions in the locker and bathrooms.

It was, in fact, after one of these intense rendezvous, that Mark accosted Callie, who still wasn't breathing quite as normally as she would've liked. "Where's the fire?" he asked jokingly, but the look in his eyes let on that he knew _exactly_ where that fire was located. "Um…nowhere," Callie answered, although she did slow down her pace. "No but seriously I gotta talk to you," he muttered to her, suddenly stepping closer. Callie raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What about?" she asked. He shook his head and didn't say, instead steering Callie into an on-call room.

She stood, arms crossed while Mark opted for a seat on the cot. He said nothing for a little bit, trying, Callie supposed, to marshal his thoughts. "Look, you know this leaf?" he began. Slowly Callie nodded. "Well it's not really turning and I was…ah…well I was wondering-"he added before the rest of his sentence was swallowed up by Callie's firm and uncompromising "NO."

"But you didn't even-"

"No, means no, Mark," sighed Callie, scrubbing her hand through her hair. Now he frowned.

"C'mon Callie just for old times sake-"

"Mark, really," Callie interrupted again, cutting across his voice. "Is that all or what? I have to set a busted shin in about-" she checked her phone for the time-"in about ten minutes." What was this? She'd never seen Mark act this way before in fact he- hold on a minute. Wait. Was he- was Mark- was he…_jealous? _

"Throw me a bone here, Callie!" He was saying. "I mean I _was _the one who borrowed Hahn's keys so you two could that opportunity! I set this whole thing up-"

"Mark."

His name, said so chillingly frigid that even he shut up and looked at Callie. "You did not set _anything _up. You meddled where there shouldn't have been meddling. Alright, maybe we wouldn't have been together that quick if you hadn't _borrowed _Erica's keys, but still. No means no Mark," Callie said, never breaking eye contact, daring him to interrupt. And for his sake he didn't. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a consult with a broken tibia." And with that, she was gone, leaving Mark to contemplate how badly that had gone. He sighed and slammed his fist into the bed frame. Dammit.

………….

"So we still on for tonight?" Erica asked Callie as they stood to throw away trash from lunch. Callie nodded and smiled. "Definitely. Cristina's on-call tonight so we'll be fine," she responded. Erica gave her a look, remembering all too well what had happened the last time Callie had made such an assurance. "Yeah, yeah I know- I even checked the schedule this time," the brunette laughed. Sharing another smile, the two went their separate ways, Erica to a coronary angioplasty and Callie to fix two dislocated arms.

It seemed forever until their shifts ended; Erica was still hung up on a triple bypass with complications but she assured Callie that she'd still meet her, just a little late. Callie got the text when she closed the door. She began to pick up some stuff off the floor; for some reason she felt a little self conscious. There was a knock a few minutes later and Callie straightened hurriedly. Well, that seemed a little fast. She couldn't keep a smile from her face but as soon as she opened the door, her smile faltered and was replaced with a frown.

"Mark? What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded. He brushed in past her without an answer and sat in a chair, frowning back at her and crossing his arms. He looked like some sort of a soap opera star, with his intense eyes and black-silk like shirt. Jesus, he really wouldn't quit! "Do you love her?" he asked. Well, at least he was getting to the point. "What business of it is it yours??" Callie snapped. "Do you?" he pressed. Callie sighed. All she wanted was to kick back with Erica (among a few other things!), not deal with this. "Well….we're taking it slow but…So what if I do?" she asked. Mark's body language got a little stiffer. He wasn't expecting that. Callie noticed it right away and her beliefs from earlier were justified. Mark _was _jealous. Incredible. He didn't strike her as the 'jealous' type, but she supposed that went without saying.

He stood and walked towards her. God, this was bad. He never meant to read too much into what he and Callie had- sure it was fun and it helped him out from his drought imposed on him by the nursing staff. But then something unexpected happened: he began to have feelings for her, as much as he was reluctant to admit it. It was almost like Addison all over again. Dammit. Again. And so he did what he thought was the gentlemanly thing to do: he gave the two just enough of a nudge to pursue their relationship. Still having feelings for Callie, he simply couldn't take it any more, knowing those two were together, and he made his move. Or, tried to, at least.

Mark was no more than a few steps away when he re-crossed his arms and leaning forward a little, an odd habit he did sometimes. "Please Callie," he said softly, locking his eyes with hers. "Please," he repeated, moving a little closer. She still had her arms to her sides and was shaking her head and was opening her mouth to say no (again!) when Mark made his move. He darted forward and kissed Callie, his lips crushing those soft pink ones, with his arms around her as they had done so many times before in on-call rooms. She was taken off her guard- whatever she expected him to do- it sure as hell wasn't that.

Callie tried pushing him off of her, but he wouldn't budge. Her hands on his shoulders, she tried again, but the silky material slipped under her hands and the result was that she pulled the material apart, causing a few buttons to pop off. _Good god this couldn't get any worse_, Callie thought. But then it did.

"Hey Cal, sorry I'm late-" Erica said, stepping through the door. Mark stopped kissing Callie and spun around. Oh. Sweet. God. This couldn't be happening. With stony silence Erica took in their quick breathing, the condition of Mark's shirt and Callie's disheveled hair. The silence was so thick and the three were stranded in it, just like a fly stuck in tar. After looking Mark over, Erica looked at Callie, and the brunette could almost see the armor going up in Erica's mind. Quietly and carefully, she set the bottle of wine she was carrying at the door and turned and walked away.

Shoving Mark away, Callie sprinted to the door and saw a flash of blonde hair rounding the corridor. "Erica, wait!" she called, hoping that the blonde would at least listen and not immediately go to the elevator so they could talk. When she rounded the corner, she saw Erica standing in front of the elevator, head down and gripping the frame for support. "I get it Callie," Erica began, straightening and taking her hand off the door frame. Turning, she met Callie's eyes.

"I get it. I told you before I don't make friends easily. Now you know why." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes briefly but opening them once more. "I never, _never _do relationships at work. There's too much to lose- we'd both end up getting hurt and with the history it'd be impossible to work with them again. But this time? I thought 'Well Erica, give it a shot.'" She let out a short bark of laughter. "You need someone else Callie. Someone else who can fully reciprocate what you feel as openly as you do. And I don't think I am that someone else." Letting out another short, sardonic laugh, she added, "And I think that's what makes this so damn hard." Taking a deep breath, Erica finished her speech: "Good night, Dr. Torres." She turned to the elevator, which opened with a strangely cheery chime that sounded so out of place with what had just happened; with what had just been said. Her intense blue eyes were still drinking in Callie- this was probably the last time that they'd ever look at her like this-ever- so she indulged a little.

And to Callie's ultimate chagrin, the incredible icy orbs that were Erica's eyes started to thaw, tears falling out and coasting down her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away, instead keeping her eyes solely on Callie before the elevator doors closed. One thing, of many, that kept repeating in her head like an unwelcome drumbeat in her skull was the fact Erica had called her 'Dr. Torres.' She hadn't called her that-seriously at least- since the day after Erica, Callie and Sloan went out to Joe's after work.

_She put her arm out to stop the elevator doors from closing and greeted her with a warm smile and a familiar "Dr. Torres." _

"_Dr. Hahn….Anyone who can out drink me and still is able to kick my ass at the dart board gets to call me Callie," Callie answered with a grin, taking a sip from her water._

"_Last night was actually….fun, wasn't it?" Erica laughed. Callie agreed wholeheartedly. Last night, she decided, was pretty kick ass. _

"_And I' not usually a group person," Erica added. _

"_Me neither."_

"_I think it's because I just don't generally like people."_

"_Hah! Me neither." _

_The doors chimed and opened, revealing a smiling Mark Sloan. "Morning, ladies," he greeted with a smug grin. Erica turned to Callie and simply said, "Case in point!" They left the elevator, laughing while Mark stood there, perplexed. "What's so funny??" he called after them. _

This memory flashed through Callie's head like a bullet train. She wanted to- no, she needed to follow Erica, to explain that it was just Mark being a jack ass, that it wasn't anything__like it looked. The difference being that this time, with this elevator, there was no arm being held out to stop the doors from closing. This time, inches of steel and fast increasing distance separated the two. She didn't know how long she stood there in the corridor with tears going down her facing, staring at nothing before Christina appeared, seemingly, out of nowhere.

"Callie?" The other blinked slowly and her eyes focused on Christina. Taking her awkwardly by the shoulder, the resident guided the surgeon into a seat and kicked closed the door. She raised an eyebrow at all the buttons on the floor, yet said not a word. Callie curled up on the couch in the fetal position and still stared at nothing. Work was going to suck.

…………

The first few days after they had stopped talking was, to say the least, dull, endless and incredibly awkward and painful. Lunch was taken and eaten in five minutes and traumas that had them working together were definitely uncomfortable. The end of each day found the two both curled up and staring at their phones, thumbs posed over the speed dial that would enable one to talk to the other. And always, both closed their phones shut with a frustrated sigh, feeling conflicted that the other wouldn't call or even text.

Bailey noticed all the changes with a sense of slight confusion, thinking back on the day in the OR when she realized that a little somethin'-somethin' was most definitely there. Ah well.

Callie ate her salad in the supply closet on the third floor this time. Yesterday it was in the closet on the fourth floor. She decided she needed a change in scenery. The door opened and Bailey walked in, looking to get supplies for the clinic. "Something the matter, Dr. Torres?" she asked, picking bandages and suture kits off the shelves. Callie looked up, finished chewing and swallowing and answered, "No."

"Sure about that?" Bailey pressed. There was another pause when Callie answered, quietly this time, "No." Bailey sat next to Callie on the floor. "Wanna talk about it?" she asked.

"…No…"

"….."

"Okay fine I will. Eri- _Dr. Hahn _and I had a huge fight and now we're not talking," Callie blurted in a rush, giving a sharp laugh-that-wasn't-a-laugh. Bailey didn't miss the name change at the beginning. "You talk to her about it?" she said instead. "Well I-no," Callie finally said. "Besides, she'd just ignore my call, or even ignore me. So no, I haven't. Trust me, you'd do the same."

"Dr. Torres." Bailey said firmly, the beginnings of a frown on her face. Ouch. Definitely not the best thing to say. Callie looked at her incredulously. Bailey just addressed her like she was some wet-behind-the-ears intern. "Go. Call her. And if she says no, so what? At least you'll know. So, go. Get outta my sight until you call. And I don't want to see you taking your lunches in supply closets. This one or any other." And with that, Bailey brusquely stood and, with her bandages and suture kits, left Callie in the relative dark of the supply closets. Oh screw calling her. Glancing down at the remains of her lunch, Callie formulated a plan.

It was risky.

She'd probably make a complete ass of her self.

It could go wrong in so many ways.

It was perfect.

……………………

Charts were spread around her, like a fortress of work behind which she kept her feelings and heart safely enclosed. Normally, she hated charting. She preferred to be in the OR, with nothing else to worry about except her scalpel and the patient's heart. But the tedium that was charting was welcome today, and the days since she'd found Callie and Sloan in Yang's apartment. Briefly she took her eyes off her work and reached for her cup when she noticed Callie was coming towards her with a determined look on her face. Shit. She could've picked a better time to do this- like call her, or something. Erica had a feeling this was going to get out of hand- and fast

Callie stopped short in front of Erica and leaned forward on the table.

"Can I help you Dr Torres?" Erica drawled. Goddammit. Her emotions were all over the damn place- like tossing something in a blender and not putting a top on it. Erica was surprised that it didn't show in her speech.

"Shut up and don't talk," Callie answered, that determined face and tone making Erica forget all about her charts.

"Excu-"

"I said, don't talk. You said in the corridor that I needed someone else. Someone else who could fully reciprocate what I feel, as openly as I do. Well, Erica Hahn, guess what?" By this time, people at tables around them were surreptitiously trying to eavesdrop and get a good view of what was happened. By this time, half of the cafeteria was looking at the two.

"What?" Erica said softly, her eyes never backing down from Callie's own intense brown orbs.

"Erica, _I don't want anyone else._" That being said, Callie kissed her. Not chastely, like the elevator. But more of This-Kiss-Is-A-Combination-Of-All-The-Emotions-I've-Had-Since-Our-Fight type of kiss. It was the type of kiss that movies and T.V. shows couldn't even get close to replicating. Also, there was tongue. A lot of it. By this time, the whole cafeteria was staring at them, and more than one jaw had hit the deck from surprise.

Callie slowly straightened and licked her lips- they tasted of the juice Erica was sipping. Head held high, she sauntered out of the cafeteria, and immediately all the attention was shifted back to Erica, who still stared at Callie's retreating back.

Christina had an idea. It might work, it might ensure that she'd get in on all the surgeries that were heart related and not get put down anymore. True, Hahn was grudgingly teaching her, but still put her down occasionally. And with her plan, Christina might actually prove herself competent.

"Oh please. Get over it guys," Christina muttered, taking a sip of her water. Normally, she would've not been heard beyond the table she and the rest of her fellow 1st year residents shared. But the silence was deafening and most of the cafeteria looked her. "Get over it? Christina, were you here like five seconds ago?" Izzie hissed. Christina dropped her fork and sat up straight, looking Izzie in the eye.

"Yeah, I was. And it's not a big deal," she answered, taking another sip. Now the cafeteria was getting back to the normal swing of things, prompted by Christina's comment, though most were still looking at Hahn to see what she'd do. And out of the corner of her eye, Christina saw Hahn look at her and- wait a minute. Was that- _was that a nod of respect? From Hahn? _Get the hell out of here. But it was. And this time, the resident was more than happy to admit that it wasn't a hallucination, unlike last time.

Christina smiled inside but simply went back to her earlier slouch on two chairs. Yep, her groove was definitely back. 


	6. Beautiful

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

Huh. I guess my muse forgot to take her Prozac or something…. Oo Oh and I just want to say this: In writing this chapter, the views of a certain character serve only to move the plot along. I don't mean to step on anyone's toes with what I write, so if I offend, I apologize. That being said….

Read and review! Thanks! :

(Sorry I didn't update as I normally do- I've been having some…issues….and it's been hard trying to cram in time to write.)

Disclaimer: 

Grey's and its characters belong to Shonda Rhimes and ABC.

Callie marched out of the cafeteria with her head held high and felt like jumping off a building from the swarm of emotions inside of her. She didn't look where she was going and darted into an on-call room to think on what had just happened. In all reality, her first expectation was for Erica to just freeze her out and still coldly ask what she wanted. But Callie was definitely glad that hadn't happened. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes in the darkened room, willing her heart to calm down. When she felt she had had gotten a steady rhythm, she turned to open the door.

Only, the door was already opening and quite suddenly, Callie found herself pressed up against the wall with Erica's face only a few inches from her own. The heart surgeon's hands were gripping the white lapels of Callie's lab coat. Her intense blue eyes searched Callie's own, ticking back and forth from one to the other. "That was foolish," Erica said softly, still staring at Callie. The brunette gulped. She wasn't sure what Erica was going to do and so she stared back.

Erica gave her a kiss, a soft light one on the lips that demanded nothing, yet promised everything. "After work at my place sound good to you?" She asked quietly after leaning back and letting go of Callie's lapels. The other nodded, breathing hard. She felt like a mess, but still agreed to meet her none the less. "Good. I'll see you later, _Dr. Torres_," Erica murmured, her tongue wrapping around Callie's title. She stepping around Callie and walked out of the on-call room, but not before giving the brunette a quick, smoldering smile. _Well, that went well, _Erica thought as she walked to her consult with a quick, private quirking of her lips. _That went well. _

………………..

"Mrs. Harper, you have an aortic dilation-"

"A…a…a _what_?"

"An aortic dilation…it occurs when part of the wall of the aorta- the largest artery in the body- is swelling. You probably received it when you fell on the stairs this morning. We saw it on an ultrasound when your husband bought you in," Erica answered. The anxious couple, Jim and Cynthia Harper, tightened their grip on each other's hands. "That's what caused your chest discomfort," Erica finished, letting the information sink in. It was the husband who spoke first. He was still in his cop's uniform- he must've just rushed over here. His voice trembled a little, and it was clear he was not used to it doing that because he took another deep breath halfway into the sentence, this time without the tremble.

"Can….can this be fixed?" He asked, licking his lips nervously and looking back at his wife. There was a pause. "Well, Mr. Harper, it can, but do to the fact that your wife had recently finished chemo, we're not exactly sure how her body is going to react."

"But her cancer is-"

"Gone, yes, but her body is still weak from the chemotherapy. I read her file.

"Now, you have two options: the first is that we operate, and surgically repair the aorta by inserting a sort of tube to patch the swelling. There is a risk that her body cannot handle the strain of the surgery however. Heart surgery takes a lot out of even someone in tip top shape.

"Your second option is simply this: we don't operate. You two can enjoy whatever time you have left, but if it ruptures, then there is little to no chance we can fix it because her body is still going to be quite weakened. The rate is that less than 50 percent of people survive a ruptured aortic aneurysm. With your wife's condition…..." Erica trailed off, holding her hands behind her back. "I'm sorry," she commiserated awkwardly. Damn, her bedside manner sucked. Then again, with the patient under anesthesia, there was no real need to polish said bed side manner.

The couple looked at each other again. "I'll leave you to your decision," she added, turning to make her exit. "Uh, Dr. Hahn," the wife called, leaning up a little off of her pillows. Erica turned. "Yes?"

"Which would you recommend?" She asked. "I would choose the surgery," Erica replied instantly, with no hesitation. "I have faith in my abilities as a surgeon to fix the swelling. It's just the healing phase that I'm worried about." There was another beat of silence. "Let me know your decision," she said again, and seeing that they were now talking quietly amongst themselves, she left.

If the couple did indeed decide to go through with the procedure, then that could mean that Erica would probably be a bit late for her meeting with Callie. She sighed a little and finished her rounds. When she came back, the couple had made their decision: they wanted to the procedure.

…………….

The surgery was going fine, until Erica had inserted the Dacron tubes into Ms. Harper's aorta. Her heart stopped beating. Erica growled in frustration. A pair of defibrillator batons was thrust into her hands. "Charge to 7 joules," she snapped. Dammit, this woman was _not _going to die today, especially not while on Erica's table. Placing the defibrillators next to the heart, she thumbed the buttons. The shrill beep of the monitor knifed through the silence. "Charge to 9 joules," she ordered. "Charging," answered the nurse. Once more, the defibrillators were placed adjacent to the heart. Erica thumbed the buttons again, looking at the monitor. Reluctantly, ever so reluctantly, but still there, the heart began to beat once more on its own. Breathing out a sigh, Erica took a quick look at everyone else. "Alright, that's the first time her heart stopped. Let's make it the last, shall we?"

………………

A day after the surgery found Erica and Callie behind the relative safety of a locked on-call room door. Last night, both had noted, had been quite satisfactory. "So how's your AA patient?" Callie asked. Her voice was slightly muffled by kissing her way down Erica's clavicle. She threw back her head and hissed softly, and squeezing the sheets under her hand into a crumple. They were playing a sort of a game- one woman would have to sit there and not be allowed to make any moves at all while the other could do as she pleased. It was a game of self control, something that Erica prided herself on. However, even this delicious torture took its toll on the heart surgeon.

It took a little while for Erica to answer- she was losing her self control. "Not sure…going to check after rounds," she said at last, taking a sharp inhalation of breath as Callie made her way from her shoulder bone to the hollow of her throat. "Aiiieeeee….!" Erica breathed, her chest hitching uncontrollably. Callie looked up with a Machiavellian grin. "Going to give up yet?" She asked slyly. Erica opened her eyes- she didn't realize she'd closed them- and smiled back. "Not even close."

……………………..

Mr. Jim Harper was coming back from the cafeteria and returning to his wife's bedside when he saw them. The door opened and the two doctors walked out, giggling and laughing. Jim knew one of them- the blonde who was taking care of Cynthia's heart, and the other he had no clue. Then, to his ultimate horror, they _kissed_. His mind struggled to process the information. _The blonde didn't look like a lesbian….good God_, he thought. For the most part, whenever he thought about gays, it was out of sight and out of mind. But here- now….he almost dropped the food he was carrying. He felt sick all over. This woman, this _lesbian_, had put her hands in _his wife. _Revulsion filled him and he almost dropped the yogurt and water he was carrying. Jerkily he rushed towards his wife's room and in passing gave the darker haired woman a flat out glare. He had to get back. He couldn't allow _her _to touch his wife. He had to protect her.

……………………….

Erica flicked a glance at the time and saw, that after rounds, she'd be off work. She quickened her pace to Mrs. Harper's room, wanting to see what, if anything was the matter and then leave. She and Callie had dinner and a movie planned out.

As she got closer, whoever, there came the tell tale sound of a heart monitor beeping frantically. Erica frowned with worry and began to run towards Mrs. Harper's room. Nurses met her at the door, a crash cart at the ready as they pushed it in. Erica's fears were confirmed: Mrs. Harper was coding. Her body couldn't handle the strain of an open heart surgery. "What do you want to do, Dr. Hahn?" one of the nurses asked worriedly. Erica began to step closer.

"You stay away from her!" Mr. Harper yelled his eyes glassy with tears. "Don't come any closer!"

"Mr. Harper, if you don't let us closer to help your wife she will die," Erica stated firmly, holding her hands out wide. Mr. Harper looked torn. Finally it was the arrival of Yang that set things in motion. "Stay away!" he warned again. "Mr. Harper, tell us what's wrong after we help your wife live!" Erica said, a little louder to be heard over the beeping monitor. Everyone was frozen, looking from Mr. Harper to Erica. "You stay away from her, you filthy dyke!" He screamed.

Erica could count the times when she was rendered speechless on one hand. Now she had to add another finger. Yang, of all people, came to her rescue. "Call security to get him out of here- NOW!" she shouted as the nurses sprang into action. Erica was frozen for only a second. Yang had pushed the husband aside, and as of right now, Erica didn't give a damn about that douche of a husband. Dr. Hahn had taken over, and her only concern was to get to the patient.

"Paddles. NOW!" She demanded. The paddles were thrust into her hands once more and it was like a replay of surgery. Except this time, there was an angrily homophobic husband yelling epithets as he was hauled away. "Charge to 280," she said, keeping her eyes on the monitor. "Clear!" But it was all in vain, even after numerous times to resuscitate. Breathing angrily through her nostrils, Erica straightened. "Call it, Yang," she snarled as she stormed out of the room.

Christina hung her head and blew a sigh out of her mouth. She always hated losing a patient. It was almost like a testament to her failure. She glanced at her watch. "Time of death….18:43."

…………………………….

The cool air was like a caress to Erica's face as she walked out of the hospital, arm and arm with Callie. "Hey. You okay?" She asked, lacing fingers with her. Erica gave a non-committal grunt. It simply wasn't fair. But the good old' mantra, _Life isn't fair _had already told her that. Cardiothoracics was a goddamn old boys club, and Erica had busted her ass, fighting tooth and nail to get into said club. First the Harper-Avery being stolen from rights under her by that arrogant ass, Burke, and now this. Not only because she was a woman, but now because of what she had with Callie. Erica knew all about what was and wasn't fair, and had accepted it as being a part of life, viewing it as only another obstacle to be overcome. But this? This was unfair, and even the surgeon in Erica had to admit that.

They walked in silence, with Erica dropping her head on Callie's shoulder. Every bone in her body was aching; she just needed to-

"You fuckin' killed her."

Erica's eyes shuttered open and what she saw was close to horrifying, if not already there. An extremely distraught Mr. Harper stood there, shakily holding a gun at the two of them- specifically, at Erica. Licking her lips nervously, Erica disentangled her fingers from Callie's and began to step forward, using the calmest voice she knew. "Sir, Mr. Harper, What happened there was not my fau-"

"Bullshit! You knew that she could die form the operation! Yet you cut her up anyway! And-and-and you put your-your hands in her!" He shouted, his words coming out strangled from the urge not to cry.

Callie had half a mind to run towards the hospital, but that meant that she'd probably have to leave Erica here. Not an option. She could yell 'RUN!' but that meant alerting the gun-man. Also not an option. She was tensed, though, on the balls of her feet.

"Mr. Harper, please put down the gun," Erica said slowly and carefully, arms still spread wide to show she meant no threat. He shook his head sadly. "Can't do that you murdering bit-" the rest of his sentence was swallowed up by the roar of the 9mm. Erica fell to the ground, hit by some unknown force. There was the pounding of footsteps as Mr. Harper ran for the hills, but Erica didn't hear that. All she knew was that Callie was lying on top of her and something warm, almost hot, and sticky was coming out of her. _Oh. My. God. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening. _But it was. Erica turned Callie over and pulled her jacket apart. A bullet hole. Right in her chest. Right in her heart. Sweet Jesus.

"Callie?? CALLIE!?" Erica screamed, cradling her head. Callie was blinking quite rapidly, almost myopically. She tried to talk, but all that came out of was a flow of blood and some bubbles. "Shh don't talk!" Erica said in a petrified whisper. Callie used her remaining strength to raise her bloodstained hand to Erica's face and croak, "Beautiful," with a smile on her face. Erica left their purses in the bushes and hooked her arm under Callie's legs and supported her head against her chest. Blood was everywhere in a sickening red swirl of color- and then Erica realized she was crying- sobbing her eyes out. "Come on, babe, don't do this to me. You ARE NOT DONE. DO YOU HEAR ME?" she screamed. The doors of the hospital whooshed open and Erica bawled her eyes out. "WE GOT A TRAUMA!" She bellowed. Bailey, who was working the graveyard shift tonight, looked up from her charts and her color drained from her face.

"Call and page every available surgeon and resident we got on this floor- NOW!" Bailey roared at the nurses. Turning to Erica, she asked, "What do we got?" But Erica didn't answer. She couldn't. For she knew where the bullet had entered: right in the goddamn aorta. Which meant an aortic dissection. Which, in turn, meant that Callie had a 20 percent chance of living.

And all Erica could think about was Callie lifting her hand and stroking her face, croaking, "Beautiful," before those amazing, warm, delicious, caring chocolate brown eyes closed.

_Beautiful……_


	7. Au Chocolat

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

As always, thanks for the reviews and whatnot- they're what keep me writing this. I'm going to give you a quick heads-up though. Since I'm not really sure how far I want to take the story, I might be ending in a few chapters. But again, that's a MIGHT. We'll see. And if I do end this story, then the incredible temptation to write more Callica may win out and compel me to write a sequel- of sorts. Or even write a lemon….I have never, EVER written one of those though, but we shall see. And sorry about the wait- I must've re-written and re-started this thing a million times, but it still doesn't match exactly how I want but…yeah. When I have more time I'll try again and see what's what.

Anyways, you know the drill- read and review! Thanks!

Disclaimer:

Still not mine…sigh heh

She was floating in a void, where occasionally an image or two would pass by. There were scenes from her childhood and life: first bike ride, first dance she went to, first car she got. And there were current things as well: a scene from the elevator ride when she and Erica were after the night of drinking and they shared a laugh at Mark's expense, the nights spent with her, drinking wine and laughing until their sides split, **THE **elevator when Erica kissed her and many, many more. _Seeing my life flash before my eyes…, _Callie thought distractedly; her thought was like a fluff of cotton floating on the wind currents of a balmy summer breeze.

She rather preferred this state; there was no intense dagger of pain in her chest like God had cruelly speared her heart like a fish in the water; there was no need to see the pure pain and anguish in Erica's eyes as she carried her inside; there was no need to know that yeah, she'd probably die. It was…calm. Just calm. And so she floated.

………………………………………..

The graveyard shift at Seattle Grace was currently up to their elbows in one of their own: Callie Torres, with Erica fighting tooth and nail to repair Callie's dissected aorta. When they opened her up, her blood pressure was way too high, and that was Erica's first concern, so she stepped up and got to work, trying to put the fact that yeah, the woman she loved had a chance of dying today if she didn't perform flawlessly.

The beeping monitor was quite possibly the sound that Erica hated the most, and a sound that she had heard far too much in the past two days. And therefore, it was NOT welcome at all in any degree, especially when it applied to Callie. "Paddles!" She directed. Her body on auto pilot and shouting commands, it was now Dr. Hahn that had taken over- cold, calm and confident in her abilities. But after thumbing the buttons on the defibrillators twice and having that shrill scream still jab into Erica's brain like an ice pick, her resolve was cracking, hair line cracks that began to widen and deepen into fissures. "Dr. Hahn…," Webber began. Erica shot him a venomous look. "I am not ready to _quit_, Dr. Webber," she snapped. "Charge to 12 joules," she ordered the nurse. "C'mon, Cal…..don't do this to me," Erica murmured under her breath as she placed the paddles again next to Callie's heart. Thumbing the buttons again, she looked at the monitor with knuckles white on the batons-

-and her heart felt like it exploded and soared at the same time. That hateful shrill screech regulated into beeps. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, Erica handed the batons back to the nurse and, without another comment, went back to Callie's heart, trying to repair the three-layer tear in the aorta with a synthesized graft.

"She's a fighter," rumbled the Chief with a certain note of pride in his voice, but Erica didn't hear or reply. Every ounce of concentration was spent on repairing Callie's heart; in a way, it was Erica's as well. And the only sound was the normal _beep-beep _of the monitor and the clicking clack of surgical tools.

……………………………………………..

There was a light, and as she was floating she consciously made herself stop. _Is that…? Is that the proverbial light? At the end of tunnel? _Callie asked herself. Intrigued, she didn't realize she was moving forward towards said light until, from way, way far off, she heard, "….don't do this to me…" Pausing, Callie looked around and saw nothing but black before her. When she looked back at the light, however, a figure made of light motes seemed to coalesce. "…_Abuela_?" She asked, eyes opening wide. Her grandmother had died when she Callie was young- maybe at around the cusp of turning seven, but one thing that she remembered was that her grandma always had a kind, seamed face with an amiable disposition.

The figure nodded and held her hand out, smiling that same smile from oh so long ago. Callie took another step forward, but felt something tug on her arm. The words that the disembodied voice from earlier had said came back to her again. "….don't do this to me…" Erica. Erica's voice.

_But if I go back, it'll hurt again, _she thought with a pang of sadness. _But even with the ones that you loved that passed away; it still won't be anything like what you have now. Your parents won't be there. Your friends won't be there. _**Erica **_won't be there _whispered another part of her subconscious. Taking another, lingering look at her grandmother, Callie sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be pulled away from the light and back into the void, where she floated once more.

……………………………………………

The body could be, and would be treacherous to it's' owner on occasion. For example, when Erica and the rest of SGH were on the nineteenth hour of the twenty hour procedure to repair Callie's heart, Erica felt her leg begin to cramp up. Shifting her weight minutely, she refused to let the Chief know about it. He'd probably send her away on a mandatory break while _Yang _would operate. And that, quite simply, was something that Erica wouldn't allow to happen. No-one, _no-one _would handle Callie's heart other than herself. So she grit her teeth, trying to ignore that fatigue creeping in, trying to ignore that goddamn, traitorous cramp. For the most part, she succeeded.

And when the last graft was in place and the pericardium layer around the heart patched, there was enough silence to make a graveyard look like a New Year's Eve party, broken only but Erica's curt commands for tools. And when Erica finished stitching Callie's chest and stepped back, there was actually applause, form all those in the OR and in the observation window. Erica, however, didn't hear any of this. As soon as she stepped back, she collapsed, the mental and physical strain of the last three days finally taking its toll. She felt the cold tile under her cheek and then black, blissfully thick, came to shroud her in the snaking tendrils of sleep.

……………………………………

Erica stared at Callie's face, beautiful in repose as soft beeps and the rising of her chest indicated she was alive. It was two days after the surgery, and Erica only went home to shower and get cleaned up. Before and after every surgery she came and checked how Callie was doing, and she was always first and last on the rounds Erica made in the hospital. As was mandatory post-aortic dissection procedure, Callie was in a drug induced coma that would last for three days, where most of the recovery would take place. On the last day, the intubation tube would be taken out and the patient would breathe unassisted.

And through it all, Erica sat by Callie's side, holding her hand and praying that she'd be able to see those chocolate eyes open again.

On the third day, Erica went home, took a shower and came back late that night. But there was a tight feeling in her gut, like something very, very bad had happened or was going to happen. And when she quickened her pace to Callie's room and saw that the blinking lights that symbolized Callie was alive were off, as were the overhead ceiling fixtures. Feeling sick now, Erica spun and demanded of a passing nurse, "What happened??" The nurse looked at Callie's room and said with sad, nervous eyes "She coded when you were gone and….well…." The nurse's ensuing silence said it all. Callie was done. She was gone.

Erica gave an anguished cry and tried opening the door, only to find that it was locked. Slamming her fist against the wood, she slid down against the surface to land in a heap on the floor with her head in her hands. _NO. THIS CANNOT BE FUCKING HAPPENING! THE LAST TIME I CHECKED, SHE WAS OKAY- SHE WAS HEALING-she was…she was….__**alive; **_Erica thought as tears came pouring out of her eyes. _This cannot be happening- I saved her. I saved h-_

"Erica. Hey, don't cry."

Erica's eyes snapped open and she straightened in her chair hurriedly, blinking sleep and the late afternoon sun out of her eyes; it was streaming in through the slits in the blinds. Erica turned to regard the speaker and her heart went in her throat. Sweet God. It was just a dream. It had been just a _dream. _Callie squeezed Erica's hand reassuringly. "I'm still here," she whispered weakly, giving Erica a smile. She glanced down at the sheets that she was resting her head on and noticed that, yeah, she'd been crying: tearstains were on the fabric. "What's wrong?" Callie asked, although it took her a little while to summon up the physical strength to ask. "I-nothing. It doesn't matter," Erica answered with a smile, and bought Callie's hand, entwined with her own, to her lips for a gentle kiss. Callie smiled tiredly, but her eyelids drooped and she went to sleep once more, but not to float in the void. That part was done.

…………………………………….

It was to be another few weeks until Callie could go home, and those weeks were filled with tests and smiles, tears and hugs. Even Addie came back from California to wish her well and talk. Alas, Callie's parents couldn't come; they were on a two week cruise but assured Callie they'd be there as soon as they could.

And when Callie went home, she didn't go to Yang's apartment. She went home with Erica. Holding hands with their fingers intertwined, they shared brief smiles with each other as they left the hospital. It seemed like a million lifetimes when they both walked out the last time, and the gun was fired that almost took Callie away from Erica.

Callie's smiled faltered a little at the memory and Erica squeezed her hand. "It's over. We came through this," she said with a quick smile. Callie laughed, but it was more out of gratitude and relief than humor. Erica looked at her curiously, with that small smile on her face. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just….well, at the risk of sounding horribly cheesy, I'm just glad you said _we_; and that this is- or rather, _was _our first real trial as a couple. We've survived our first trial by fire, as it were, and you healed my heart." There was a beat of silence and then Erica snickered. "You're right. That was pretty cheesy." Callie hit her playfully. "Wow, way to encourage me to open up," she said, rolling her eyes. But then Erica's face was suddenly serious. She bought Callie's hands up to her lips and kissed her knuckles. They walked the rest of the way to Erica's car in companionable silence.

Callie's lips were firmly in place on Erica's before they were even inside Erica's door. Callie kicked the door shut with her foot and her hands were already sliding under Erica's jacket. There were two identical clunks as both dropped their purses, both finding a better a better use for their hands. As they meandered up the stairs to Erica's bedroom, they both left a trail of clothes to mark their passage: their jackets were the first to go, with a shoe there, a shoe here, another pair of socks.

And at the top of the stair Erica's three-quarters length button-down could be found; as each button was undone Callie painstakingly kissed her way down Erica's chest, leaving a crimson flush on her ivory skin. Next to said shirt, Callie's sea-green blouse was discarded after Erica running her nails all over Callie's soft skin while simultaneously teasing and pulling the hem up.

And outside of the threshold of the bedroom, as part of the trail, two pairs of pants could also be found- a pair of break-aways with snap buttons on the sides that Erica pulled off after un-snapping most of the buttons and running her hands up Callie's legs, dangerously skimming her hands close to her inner thighs. The other pair was a pair of sunrise yoga pants that Callie had given Erica for their first day of said yoga. The brunette hooked her thumbs over the elastic waistband and, painfully slow, dragged them down, kissing and nibbling her legs on the way. _God, I'm glad I shaved my legs last night, _was Erica's last coherent thought as they both tumbled into her bed, the sheets soft and inviting.

And if one were to follow that previously described trail up to where it led, well, there's no doubt what one would find, is there?

Author's Note: 

Oh come on. You didn't really think I was going to kill Callie, did you?hehe


	8. Mommy Dearest

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

Okay, so first off I want to say sorry that it took me so damn long to update- real life and writer's block have been kicking' my ass all over the place. I apologize for any discrepancies, by the way….R&R! Thanks!

Disclaimer:

Grey's and all associated characters belong to Shonda Rhimes and ABC.

Erica opened her eyes. The gentle patter of cold rain against the windows lent some coolness to the room, and Erica snuggled deeper into the comforter. She wondered what it was that had awakened her, and turned her head, seeing the residual glow from her phone. Reaching over, she picked it up and read the message. A donor heart was on its way. Excellent.

Turning over, she woke Callie gently with a slight shaking of her shoulder. "Wake up. Time to go," she whispered. The other stirred and opened her eyes to a squint. "What time is it?" she mumbled in a sleep-thickened voice, sitting up and pulling the covers around herself to ward off the chill. "Almost 7," Erica answered, already pulling her robe off a nearby chair. She belted on the robe and began to walk towards the shower, but not before giving Callie's leg a squeeze and urging her to wake up, to which Callie responded by half heartedly throwing a pillow Erica's way.

They had both agreed to go to breakfast together, but that would be as far as they could be together today, for Callie was on mandatory leave given by Webber and scheduled to come back to work on Monday. Forty-five minutes later found them on their respective ways, with Erica going on to an orthotopic heart transplantation and Callie to Christina's apartment.

………………………………..

The donor heart felt solidly comforting in Erica's as she gently and carefully placed it into the chest cavity in the exact same position as the previous, original heart. She methodically trimmed the heart to fit and checked her sutures. Perfect. "Yang," she barked. The resident stepped forward. "Yes, Dr. Hahn."

"Describe what's to be done."

"The great vessels are to be sutured in place and checked for leaking. If no leaking occurs, then the median sternotomy is closed and the patient stitched up," Yang answered crisply. Damn. _Well, at least she knew her stuff_, Erica thought grudgingly. "Finish," she said curtly and stepped back.

Christina flexed her fingers with a small smile behind her surgical mask. So far, it had seemed, her move at the cafeteria had paid off- Hahn was, well, being less of a bitch than usual. Awesome. Christina held her hand out. "Needle."

…………………………………

It was Sunday night, and Callie and Erica just stepped out of the car after dinner, still talking and laughing when Erica had that gut-wrenching feeling that something was wrong- it was the same feeling in the dream she had when Callie was still recovering from the aortic dissection surgery. Her laughter faded in her throat and the smile slipped off her face like a carelessly shelved book. "Erica? What's wrong?" Callie asked, looking around now with a look of unease. There. She felt it as well. "I think a goose just walked over my grave," Erica answered vaguely, slowly walking around her car to the same side as Callie. Still silent with that feeling of unease, they both walked into Erica's house and locked the door for good measure. Callie walked up the stairs and into Erica's room while the other went to the kitchen for a bottle of wine and two wineglasses.

There was a subtle knocking at the door and both the women in the house froze. Erica turned and slowly made her way to the door. She turned the lock and opened it. When she saw who it was, her fingers grew numb and the wineglasses slipped and fell, snapping the stems with the glass shards glittering, as if the glasses were delicate flowers with the stems broken and petals scattered.

Callie heard the tell-tale twinkling of glass breaking and she sprinted out of Erica's room. "Erica? What happ-" She began but stopped dead, halfway down the stairs. The porch light illuminated the woman standing there, and it was as if some higher, unknown power had taken Erica Hahn's life and turned the clock forward. Callie was pretty sure who the woman in the doorway was, yet it still came as a shock when she stepped forward and said in a slightly snobbish voice: "Hello, I don't think we've met. I'm Amy Clavelle, Erica's mother."

…………………………………

It was to be another few moments before Erica pulled it together and stiffly invited her mom inside. It was incredibly awkward when Erica disappeared; muttering something about a dustpan and it was only Callie and Erica's mom in the foyer. Apparently Ms. Clavelle came from money- Callie picked out designer names on what she was wearing: Chanel, Gucci, the works. Still, Callie was on her guard. She didn't like the way the older woman seemed to take in Erica's house with a certain note of vicarious pride. It seemed from the residual vibes in the room that Erica was definitely on bad terms with her mother- or vice versa.

Speaking of whom, she finished sweeping the glass shards up and dumped them in the trash and turned to her mom. "How did you find me?" Erica asked, coldly regarding Ms. Clavelle, who turned and tried plastering on a smile. "When one has money, they can do almost anything," she answered smoothly. "And I don't think you've introduced me to your lovely friend here," she added. Callie gulped. Shit.

"Mother-" Erica's mouth moved awkwardly over the word-"this is Callie Torres. Callie, my mother." Callie moved forward and clasped hands with Erica's mom. Geez. This was awkward. But nonetheless she forced a smile and nodded a lukewarm "Nice to meet you."

"Charmed," drawled Ms. Clavelle, giving Callie the once over. It was amazing- she was exactly like Erica- except for the eyes. Erica's were the temperamental blue Callie had come to adore and love but this woman's was a simple cold grey, the shade of tarnished steel- and just as welcoming. The quick quirking of her eyebrows made Callie's hackles rise. She _definitely _didn't like this woman.

"Why did you come here?" Erica asked, still in that deathly cold voice.

"What, can't a mother get to see her daughter?" Ms. Clavelle drawled again, with a smile that had no warmth. It was the type of smile that Erica had seen too often in her childhood- it was the type of smile one gives when a bully is making overly sophisticated jeers and knows well that their quarry doesn't understand.

Erica felt like she was dipped in a vat of icy water and quickly taken out; the chilliness was everywhere. "You either need something, or want something. Which is it?" she said, those blue eyes now boring into her mother. But the older woman seemed unfazed. "Just wanted to check up on my Erica, is all," Ms. Clavelle said with all the warmth of a blizzard. To Callie, still on the stairs, it was like the two were two she-wolves, testing the air to see where the other would pounce. A few more formalities were exchanged and Ms. Clavelle breezed out of the doorway like a gust of winter, and in that spirit, taking all the warmth with her.

After she'd left, the two looked at each other for a long time. Erica's face was carefully impassive, and Callie desperately searched her blue eyes for answers. But Erica's armor was in place, for she gave none. "What-" Callie began. "I don't want to talk about it," Erica snarled, using the same voice and tone she used on Callie only once before- on the day where she snapped at Callie about Sloan in the scrub room. The blonde brushed past Callie on the stairs and stalked unto her room. There was piercing silence between the two as they changed and got ready for bed.

Erica got into bed and faced the window, looking out at the lights of the city while Callie simply sat on the edge of her side. Finally she asked, quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?" There was silence so profound that Callie wondered if Erica was already asleep, but she wasn't. Taking a deep breath, Erica began to talk, pouring out her life in a monotone.

"Her name wasn't Clavelle. Her maiden name is Amy Thompson. My mother never admitted this, but she was the catalyst for why my parents had a divorce. My father was a lawyer, and he'd bring his paralegals over for dinner sometimes so they could talk about cases and get work done after dinner. My mother had an affair with one of them, Brian Taylor. Every time Brian would come over I'd see this…this _glance _between them and I would know something was happening. I just didn't know what at the time.

"When my father found out, he called the paralegal a treacherous son of a bitch and slapped my mother. He was so ashamed that he quit his firm, got an annulment and moved out to San Francisco. I was in my room and I couldn't sleep, and I heard my father packing and shouting at her, while she was crying and begging him to stay. So, he left and I was stuck with her." Erica took a shuddering breath, one that Callie knew well. It was the type of breath you take when the threat of tears is just above the horizon.

"She lost the house, and had to get a job as a waitress when we moved back to her hometown, Waco, Texas. We lived in a trailer park and she'd waste the money on liquor and cigarettes. More often than not I had to steal money from her purse to buy food so we wouldn't starve.

"When I was sixteen, I filed for parental emancipation and moved out. I remember that day- I packed silently while she shouted and yelled at me to stop leaving, just like my good for nothing father. She said I'd never amount to anything, that I'd be just another lazy ass. I finished valedictorian, top of my class and got first rate scholarships. When I had just turned eighteen, a letter came for me in the mail and I remember thinking, 'Who'd want to write to _me_?' And the answer came soon enough- my father, Jason Hahn. He apologized in the letter, and asked if I'd like to meet sometime. He wrote his number at the end and when I called him, he broke down on the phone. He said he tried to find us, but after we moved to Texas we fell off the grid.

"When we met for coffee, he offered to pay for my school, as a way of making up for all the lost years." Erica let out a harsh bitter laugh.

"Still, it was a nice gesture. He let me choose any school I wanted, and he'd foot the bill for everything- tuition, books, dorm-everything. I chose Johns Hopkins University instantly, and I remember seeing his eyebrows rise, as if he didn't think I'd be so sure. True to his word, all the bills were taken care of and that was it. I remember thinking and choosing the lesser of two evils- that's why I chose Hahn as my last name.

"The last time I saw my mother was at graduation. I wasn't in the best of moods after learning I was second in my class to none other than _Burke _and when I walked up that stage, I heard, 'I'm so proud of you honey!' And that's when I saw her. Apparently, she'd sunk her claws into another rich husband. I accepted my diploma and never looked her way again.

"Jason couldn't make it- he had a Coronary Artery Spasm the day before and died in the night. So the man who had paid for me to reach the point I had wasn't even there to see me walk across the stage and the woman who had poisoned my life was there. I hadn't seen her since and I wanted to keep it that way," Erica added, her voice changing from a monotone to a tight tone. "And now, she comes sniffing on my doorstep, wanting I don't know what….."

The silence stretched out to what seemed like forever. Without a word, Callie scooted next to Erica on the bed and pulled her into her arms. Her hand found Erica's cold one and their fingers entwined tightly, as if confirming of each other's presence. Together they drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

………………………………………….

When Erica walked into her consult the morning after, it felt like someone had reached in and yanked out all of her insides. So that's what she wanted: a heart procedure. Ms. Clavelle turned her head and smiled that condescending smile toward Erica. She didn't smile back, but instead reached for the chart that Yang was holding out and looked at it for a while, paging through it. "Yang, present," Erica said, without looking up from her chart.

Christina turned to the couple and cleared her throat. "Amy Clavelle is a sixty-seven year old woman with CAD, also known as Coronary Artery Disease. Her history of alcohol and smoking has contributed to the onset and progression of the disease. Her mitral valve is weakened by it, and therefore needs to be repaired or replaced."

"Treatment options?"

"A mitral valve replacement procedure with a porcine valve or even a metal one."

"….and?" Erica asked, raising her eyebrows and looking up from her chart. Christina squeezed her eyes shut, racking her brain for the answer. She'd forgotten the third option. Oh dammit, she must've heard Karev brag about it a million times when they were interns and he was treating that Jewish girl who didn't want a porcine valve- oh there it was. She remembered.

"There's also a third option available: a bovine valve. That one lasts longer but is a little bit more complicated to deal with."

There was a moment of quiet as Erica went back to paging through the chart and Christina stood, looking down at her shoes with her hands behind her back.

Ms. Clavelle broke the silence. "Are you going to be operating on me, Erica?" she asked. Christina's head jerked up and she looked over at Hahn. No-one other than Callie ever called her that; it was like being on a first name basis with Gandhi and calling him the 'the Gandster' or something like that. The heart surgeon carefully clipped the chart back on the end of the bed and answered tightly, "We'll see." Christina's own heart did a double take. If she could do the replacement herself….Suppressing a smile she darted out of the room to hash over the details with Meredith over lunch.

…………………………………………

"She wants you to _operate on her?_" Callie spluttered, choking on her soda. Erica nodded grimly, looking out the window with a frown on her face. "Well, are you?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows. Erica blew out a long sigh and stared out at the Seattle skyline a long time before answering with words Callie never would've thought Erica Hahn say: "I don't know…..I don't know…"


	9. Damaged Goods

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

As usual, thanks for the reviews. Alright, so with this chapter I'm trying something different: a POV and it's written from Erica's perspective. I'm a little nervous on how it's going to pan out, so please tell me how you feel because this is one of the very first projects that I've done in this format and I'd love feedback- just make sure it's constructive if nothing else. I'm not exactly sure it matches up with my mind, but after nearly a whole day of revisions, it's the best I can do as of right now. Anyways, I'll cut the prattling short. Enjoy!

R&R! THANKS!

Disclaimer:

Still belongs to Shonda Rhimes- alas!

My mother once referred to me as 'damaged goods' in that once I'd give away the one thing that most men seemed to want- in her opinion-, then I'd be useless, that I'd be nothing and probably end up waiting tables just like her. I'm sure that since I'll be the one operating on her heart in the next half hour, she's regretting ever planting that idea. And it makes me smile, but in a cold way.

As a general rule, I love showing people up. Perhaps it's part of the God complex all us heart surgeons have- I'm not sure, but whenever I see someone's reaction it hits something inside like a bell; it shows whose boss- me. I'd like to think that once my _mother _found out that I was a cardiothoracic surgeon that was known as least nationwide if not internationally, I'd shown her up without even meaning to. They say the taste of revenge is bittersweet. But I've had a lot of bitter, so I'm accustomed to it. Therefore, all I can taste is the sweet. And it tastes damn good.

…………………………….

"I've decided to operate," I finally say. Callie looked up from her lunch and finished chewing. I'm still staring out the window, watching the spider webbing of raindrops on the windows. I feel her eyes on me and I turn my head, meeting her gaze. She gave me a small smile and nodded encouragingly at me, as if to say that I'm doing the right thing. I suppose it is, giving me closure and all that. Huh. Dr. Wyatt would be proud of me. But still, at this, it's like my alter ego, Dr. Hahn has taken over and Erica is now no more. I stand up and tell Callie I'll talk to her later and mentally prepare myself for operating on my mother- the woman who made the first fourteen years of my life a living hell and still kept showing up, like an unidentifiable rash.

I was about to cut open the chest of the woman that poisoned my parent's marriage and robbed me of my childhood. Because of her, I had to grow up thrice as fast as one my age would have to. Perhaps because of her- no, scratch that. I _know _it's because of her I have a hard time making friends. In a childhood like mine where your parent sends you the worse kind of message on a day-to-day basis, well, it makes one rather cold and detached.

And yet, I suppose I have to grudgingly thank her, but extremely grudgingly. For if she hadn't been such a bitch, I probably would've been something else- a God-only-knows-what. Instead, I have gotten to experience the biggest high; one that's had when you see a patient's heart beating inside their chest after weaning them off bypass; one that's had when you pressed the cold, slightly indifferent metal disk of the stethoscope to a patient post-op to hear their heart at a steady pace, keeping that person alive.

I'm not sure I'll have that same high pressing the stethoscope to my mother's chest, but we'll have to see, won't we?

………………………………

I despise surprises, but I do love order. There's something comforting in knowing what comes next and how to deal with it exactly. Not knowing- or, worse, being caught off guard- is frustrating and irritating and most of the time, humiliating, to put it mildly. So finding a clot in my mother's heart that appeared after making a journey through her arteries understandably makes me pissed. I throw a baleful look at towards her head, even though she can't see me, and prepare for a thrombolectomy.

Yang hands me the catheter and I get to work, widening the vessel and finally teasing the clot out. Perfect. I could feel Yang's expectant-ness behind my back and as much as would like to pass this surgery off on her and not even have to touch my mother, I knew I couldn't. This was too personal. It would be like running away and hiding behind someone else. And quite simply, Erica Hahn doesn't run away and hide.

…………………………….

It's two days after the surgery and I'm doing a post-op exam when Callie appears in the doorway and says formally, "I need your consult, Dr. Hahn." A small quirk of my lips escapes my cool exterior of Dr. Hahn and I walk over.

I seriously can't help it. Callie has officially thawed the Ice Queen, Erica Hahn. And yet, it's like a double edged sword. I've given her my heart, yet I can only hope that Callie, who's most skilled at breaking and healing parts of the human body, won't break what I've given her of mine. Corny as hell, I know. And yes, as content as I am with her- I'm nervous. I have issues with commitment. Yet another psychological deficiency, courtesy of my mother.

"So…we still on for later?" Callie asked with a gleam in her eye. I smile and nod, looking her over. "Definitely," I answer. Oh man, the urge to touch her, to give her a quick kiss, is maddening. She jams her hands in her pockets of her white coat and gives me a wink and a smile, triggering a pyroclastic flow of desire that whips through my veins. Damn. I thought I could keep my personal life separate from my work life, but…..well. I suppose that's one failure I have to say I'm not really sad that happened. The professional in me is fuming right now, but looking at Callie round the hall as she walks away is something that can at least diffuse the fume for now.

…………………………..

When I come back to my mother she's looking at me with slightly disguised raging curiosity and also something else: scorn. Oh Christ. What's she going to jeer at me now for? "I couldn't have been gone that long," she says. Her eyes are like dull steel knives with just enough of an edge but not enough of s sharp edge to cut cleanly.

It was the same look she'd given me about two months after we moved back to Waco and one of her old porcelain dolls had broken. She gave me that glare and it made me feel small. I hated that feeling. Later I promised myself to create a glare similar to that one and I have; Yang has been under its scrutiny many a time.

"Who was that?" She asks.

"Callie Torres. A co-worker," I answered curtly, not even looking at her. Instead, I make certain notations on her chart and turn to walk out of the room when what she says stops me dead in my tracks. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?" She takes my silence as an answer. "Well, well, well," she draws out the words in her fake snobbish 'accent' and I can almost feel the waves of revulsion pooling the room through her scorn.

Suddenly I'm glad that she got a private room- because I'm pretty close to reading her the goddamn riot act. But to physically hurt her-… well, as much as I'd like to, my Hippocratic Oath along with my own set of values prevents me from stooping to her level. "So Erica….like having your own little toy tea parties?" She sneers. "Shut the hell up you bitch," I say, the ice cold fury immediately drenching the room. Oh god. I want to yank those damn leads of the post-op meds right the fuck out of her arms….I knew, I just _knew _her coming and finding me wasn't a good thing. "Why, sweetie? Just because I'm so happy that my little girl is a dy-" She begins, those pallid lips moving in motion to pronounce a word that I've decided I've had just enough of. I laugh bitterly, drowning out the rest of her sentence. "Yes, _Amy_, I'm sleeping with her. And I'm not like you- you'd always find your way to the next man's bed, lined with money and designer sheets. So yeah, I am with her. And guess what?" I say. She's a little taken aback- I don't think she's ever seen this side of me and her expression shows it. See? I told you I like showing people up.

"I am in a _meaningful relationship _with someone whom I enjoy their company very much. And that's it. It's something that you won't ever, _ever _relate to. So go ahead and throw whatever you want my way, you whore, because you _will never take that away from me._" And with that, I spin on my heel and stalk away.

………………………………………………

I have to admit, I'm pretty much horrified at my loss of control. I'm supposed to be cold. In control. But I've lost my control. Alright, let's have a mini-therapy session. Sure, I like guys, and I'm not exactly in the habit of having sexual encounters with women. But….ever since Callie….well, I know that it wasn't because I decided all of a sudden to take a ride on the wild side. More of- oh good lord Wyatt would be incredibly proud of me- falling for her. Ugh. I'm sounding like a pathetic teen movie, and yet…I'm strangely at peace with the realization. For now.

And so what if my estranged mother has issues with it.

She could just shut up and deal.

Not that I'd want her close enough to deal with it, that is.

Oh well. Another day, toil. I walk over to the locker room and spin the combination when hands go over my eyes and my world is shrouded in black. Dammit. I hate surprises. Yet this one brings a slight smile to my face- an amazing feat considering the day I've had with Mother Dearest. "Guess who," the voice says, blowing a puff of warm air on the nape of my neck. Pleasant shivers ripple through my body as I gently pry the hands off and turn to see who it is. Leaning in for quick kiss, she asks "Are we still on for Joe's?" Ugh. More human interaction? No thanks. And yes, I've come to terms with the fact that I may be bit of a misanthrope except with certain people. So sue me.

"Well," I say, rolling the word around my mouth like a mouthful of fine wine, "We could go to my house, and maybe watch a movie..." I watch her face for a reaction and there's a slight upward tilt of her lips. And somewhere in my now-increasingly-hazy brain, I realize that she's pressing me up against the lockers while she's inching closer. "I think….it sounds like a plan," she says, her voice no louder than a whisper and her lips are only a few inches away.

W hen she does kiss me, it's one of those types of kisses that makes you think that your toes and fingers will never uncurl from. The next thing I know, my fingers are in her hair- and yes, it's glorious. All thoughts of being the cold doctor who stares down her nose at Yang and interns are out the window. During this thought process, she maneuvered her leg between mine and she's making it do things that make me groan against her mouth. I dragged my mouth down her throat, following her pulse like it's a treasure hunt and I've yet to find the final item and it's then that we hear it: the sound of a doorknob being opened.

_Erica Hahn, _I sternly reprimanded myself. _You are _not _having sex in the locker room_. She reads my mind and we spring apart, me turned to my locker and furiously trying to remember the combination through the fog in my brain. The intruding doctor leaves and once again it's just me and her. Wearing a smirk, I turn and look at her while I'm pulling off my scrubs. "So…drinks at Joe's?" I ask, knowing damn well the answer. Still, I can't resist teasing her. I never was one for teasing, but do it to Callie is amusing and entertaining. Among other things.

She looks up and returns my smirk. "I was thinking more of a movie…at your place," she answers.

And that's good. Because I'm not sure if even I have enough willpower to justify a trip to Joe's.

………………………………………..

As we get to my car, I smile inside. I know that I am not damaged goods, as my mother had said. I am going home, to my own house, in a relationship that's way better than any gold-digging partnership that my mother has with her latest boy toy. On reflex I throw a look over my shoulder at the hospital, towards the wing that I know my estranged mother is in. On a whim, I decide to kiss Callie's cheek and she turns and gives me another smile. I smile back and we get into the car and as I back out I give one last satisfied thought: _There. So take that, Mommy Dearest. _And there it is again. Those tiny bells chime inside of me that happen when I show someone up. A twisted pleasure, I know, but trust me, the pleasure's all mine….


	10. Wait Seriously?

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

I'm honored with your reviews- thanks for the encouragement, seriously. This is another POV of Erica, but I'm planning on doing a 3rd person view on the next chapter. My muse got a little carried away, as you can see….

Disclaimer:

Hmmm- I'm going to start to faze these out. If you've gotten this far in reading this fiction then you already know that these lovely people aren't mine, much as I wish they were hehe. . But still, they belong to Shonda and company.

………………………..

Like I said before, I'm definitely not a big fan of surprises- truth be told, I'm not really sure why, just—I'm not. I think it has to do with the fact that I'm not in control, that I don't know what's coming next- it makes me feel vulnerable. And I can't afford to feel vulnerable.

That's why my stomach feels like it's fallen to my feet the morning after I came home from the hospital. I'm usually the first one up out of the two of us, and I walk to the table where I dumped the mail after coming home last night. The early morning sun is dappled out upon the tiles as a splash of light, making them warm and hospitable to my bare feet. A stiff envelope not shaped like a bill catches my eye, and I open it to reveal an invitation. The lettering is in the raised, golden ink that you only see in movies, and I can't believe what I'm reading: Walter Tapley is hosting some sort of event, and I'm invited and can bring one guest. I already know who. Speaking of whom….

"Hey," Callie says, coming up from behind me and hugging me from behind, her hands comfortably around my waist. "Morning," I answer vaguely, reading the rest of the invitation. There's quiet as she reads over my shoulder, both our eyes ticking across the raised gold ink letters. "So are you going to go?" She asks me. I nod. A chance to talk to Walter Tapley? The father of cardiothoracic surgery- and coincidentally the man I saved- wants me, Erica Hahn, to come to some gala event? Hell yes, I'm going.

"You're taking me, right?" Callie whispers in my ear, kissing and nibbling her way down to that small hollow of soft skin just above the clavicle and between my neck. The sensation makes my eyes roll back in my head and I fumble the invitation from the feeling. Damn. Its odd- no one else besides her has discovered that sensitive patch of skin on my chest and treated it with such care that she does. What she does do with it though…well, when I _finally_ recover, I give a sardonic laugh that's shaky from the way my body is responding.

"Yeah, who else would I invite? Sloan?_ Yang? _Please," I reply finally, sifting through the rest of my mail. Finding nothing else more interesting than bills and a few pieces of junk mail, which I tear up with a flourish, I can't help but look at the invitation again. It makes me _know _that I am the best. I'll bet that even that arrogant ass Burke didn't get an invitation.

There's a loss of warmth as Callie moves away to start preparing coffee.

"Erica?"

"Hm?"

"You _do _have something to wear to this, right?" Callie asks conversationally. There's a pause before my answer- the silence is filled up with the growl of the coffee bean grinder. "I'll just pick something out of my closet," I say absently, toying with the invitation, running my fingers over the smooth ink. I feel her eyes on me and I look up. She says nothing, but has an amused grin. "What?" I ask. "Nothing," she answers, instead turning around to finish spooning the grinds into the coffee maker. Huh. Weirdo. I pensively consider her back for a little while longer, and when she doesn't turn around I do, making my way up to the stairs to get ready for work.

…………………………

I've discovered, over the years, that I am indeed a perfectionist. And this time, I'll not say it's not wholly because of the God complex, although it's safe to say that it does certainly contribute. During all my school years, I'd be dissatisfied with what I'd get if it was anything less than the best. If I had a 98 on a test, I'd march up to the teacher and demand why I hadn't gotten the extra two points. I cannot, and _will not _tolerate failure, my own or anyone else's.

So through that, it's not too hard to understand why I feel like I've been sucker punched by the Incredible Hulk when the steady harsh cry of the monitor announces to all that I've failed in my job as a heart surgeon, and in my job in trying to save a life. I squeeze my tired eyes shut and open them, looking now at the clock. "Time of death….14:36," I say, stripping off my gloves and pulling off my headgear. Every bone in my body is aching, not helped by the knowledge that in about fifteen minutes time I will be telling the Gibson family that their son's injuries were too great, and although I did everything I could, I failed in bringing him home safely.

I'm sitting in the scrub room with my polka-dot scrub cap in my hands. My hands deftly tie knots in the strings and pick them apart just as fast as I try to mentally disconnect, and isolate my feelings from the rest of me. It's not easy, as much as I wish that it were. I _do _have feelings, as much as other people would like to think.

Sighing, I pull my cap back on and tie the strings as I walk out of the spiritual and physical sterility of the scrub room. As I break the news to the family, I see the eyes of the mother pool with tears as she probably relives every last moment of her memories with her son before the car crash. The patient's father hangs his head, and, following suit, so does his son. Dammit. I have to get out of here. Now.

And I do, walking away to change out of my blue surgical gown and into my cerulean scrubs, going on to make my rounds. As I finish them, asking the questions on rote, I suddenly realize that today's the day for the invitation. Sure enough, I check my phone for the date and it's about a week and two days since I found the invitation in the mail that warm morning. Hm. Definitely not the best way to start my evening.

My car pulls up to my house and I see I've gotten a text from Callie, saying that she'll be there semi-soon to get ready; there was a last minute trauma. The dinner is at six thirty, and it's about three. Cutting it a little close, but that can't be helped. Hell, he should understand if a few of us are late due to surgeries that take a little longer than expected.

………………………………..

Showers are under-rated. As the intense spray pounds down on my back, most, although not all, of the tensions are rinsed down the drain in a blindingly hot spray. It's at times like this that I can just float away and not have to worry about anything. Walter Tapley's gala event seems a million years away, the events of today and losing Timothy Gibson on the table seems ever farther. I give a start when there's a quiet knocking on the bathroom door and I see through the frosted glass that it's Callie. For a second I almost forgot I gave her a key to my house one time when we were to rendezvous here after work so we could go dancing. I momentarily turn off the shower and poke my head out. And what I see makes me want to die- but in a good way.

Callie has this sort of….inner beauty. I know, I sound like a guest self-help specialist on Oprah when I say that, but I'm serious. It was probably this, along with other things, that got me thinking of her more than a friend. But now, as I'm sticking my head out side of the frosted panes of the shower, I can definitely say that she's got physical beauty as well. I wasn't lying or talking to hear my own voice when I told Addison in Joe's that she was beautiful.

She's dressed in a gorgeous strapless maroon dress that compliments her coloring to a T and flows along her body in all the right places, like a lover's caress. She's wearing matching shoes that make her stand with graceful bearing. Her hair is swept up, with her bangs down in front and two curls escaping down the nape of her neck. She's put some sort of glitter lotion on or something- but instead of looking cheap she wears it well, and it gives her a sort of added elegance. Simple ruby stubs are in her ears, complimented by another ruby on a thin choker she has on. Callie's bangs are swept forward, her sweet chocolate brown eyes shelved beneath that. And yet, despite their sweetness, her eyes give off smokiness that take my breath away to the point I'm not exactly sure if I can get it back.

"I hope your silence means you approve," she finally says to break the silence. Her tone is wry and I finally notice she's holding a dress on a hanger. It's a neat shade of blue and I already know without looking in the mirror it's going to match my eyes. Hah. So much for being late due to a trauma. "How much was it?" I ask, having every intention of paying her back. But she simply smiles and hangs it up on the back of the bathroom door. "If you're done, I can do your hair," she says instead and over her shoulder as she leaves the bathroom. I blink and I realize that I'm still behind the frosted glass with my hair sopping wet and time rapidly running in short supply, pretty much nowhere near a state resembling 'ready'. Great.

…………………………..

By the time we arrive, we're a half an hour late and it's drizzling- a fine mist. Thankfully, they're still greeting people at the door. I'm surprised- but I shouldn't be- to see Richard there, with his wife Adele. I see his eyebrows rise at how Callie and I are dressed, me in the silky blue dress she picked out and her in the eye-drawing red. Introductions are made, and then I hear the gravely, booming voice of the host. "Dr. Hahn!" I turn and, there he is. God. In human form. This is like some sort of pilgrimage for me- like going to some sort of Cardiothoracic Mecca. I smile and lean forward, shaking his hand. "Dr. Tapley. A pleasure and an honor," I say with a smile, and I mean it. The founding father of Cardiothoracic Surgery is standing here, with a smile on his face, thanking me for the work I did on his heart. I turn to introduce Callie, but she's not there- she's still talking to the Chief about something. Probably by the look of it, it's about me. His face twitches with a smile as he asks her a question and she blushes just a little and responds with a small shake of her head. Commotion at the far end of the hall draws my eye, however. It's time for dinner.

Dinner conversation is kept light, with Walter Tapley sitting at our table with the Chief, Adele, Callie and I. Introductions are made, once more, and we sit to eat. Except….something's wrong. Callie's body language is rife with the feeling of angry and shame, and while my brain is auto pilot, trying to keep up with whatever Tapley's saying, the rest of me focused on her. A few times I look her way, trying to read her face but I read nothing. And she doesn't meet my eyes. That's never a good thing. Dammit. I **AM** socially awkward, and it's at times like this I wish I wasn't so I could read and understand what the hell is wrong here. Under the tablecloth, I bump my thigh against her, gauging her reaction and what she does- or rather, _doesn't _do steals my breath in a not-good-way and makes me sick. She actually readjusts her posture so that we'd actually have to make it obvious to touch. She's moving away. Shit. Something is seriously wrong, and I can't say I'm not glad when dinner is over and the guests start to stream outside into the cold, drizzly night. I have to find out what's wrong.

Walter Tapley thanks me again, and this time in front of all his colleagues, and announces to them that this was the woman who saved his heart. This is accompanied by a hearty laugh and a one armed squeeze. I see the looks on their faces and it makes me happy- true, but Callie's behavior is preventing me from hearing that special bell chime inside of me when I show people up. I gently yet firmly disentangle myself from Tapley, all the while saying my apologies- "I have a tricuspid valve stenosis to attend to!"- And search for Callie. She's near the door and I see her slip out, but through the west entrance. We parked at the south entrance. She doesn't want me to see- that much is clear, but I follow her and finally catch up. "Hey Callie!" I say loudly. The clop of her shoes on the slick cement pause, and she turns. Her gaze is flat, with none of the sparkle she's got when she usually looks at me. "What?" She asks her voice just as flat.

"What's wrong?" I say, walking closer. She doesn't have an umbrella, and the drizzle is making quick work of her hair. I, however, do have an umbrella, and as much as I'd wish she'd step under it with me-

-she doesn't. She takes a deep breath and I see something flash in her eyes- anger, before she begins to speak. "You're a career minded woman, and I respect that. I know that you've worked your ass off to get to the point where you are today, and again, I respect that. Your career is your life. But-" she steps closer now-"what I am _not _okay with is that you swept me under the carpet! What the hell was that Erica?"

Shock slams into me like a wrecking ball, and destroys the scaffolding of my mind just as quickly.

"I- wait what?"

"Don't play dumb!" She fires back, walking a little closer now. I rack my brain. What the hell does she want me to see? Conversation scrolls through my mind and- shit. There it is. Introductions before dinner. _Dr. Tapley, this is Callie Torres, my friend. _Just a friend. Not _girl_friend, or even _best _friend, even though she's all those things and more. I feel like I want to climb into a black, gaping abyss and never come back out. Comprehension's on my face, for she snorts and turns away, but doesn't start to walk. "Callie, I-" My mouth is a million miles behind my brain as I try to helplessly articulate what I feel. But it's no use.

………………………………

I hate crying. The wobbling chin, the burning pain in your eyes, and the heavy corded knot in your throat- it's terrible. I used to be able to count the times I've cried on one hand, and that's including through the course of my life. But, that was before coming to Seattle Grace. That was before meeting Callie, and all the emotions involved therein. Now, I have to add my ninth finger. The umbrella totters listlessly from my hand, and now I'm being drizzled upon as well, in this Seattle weather. I'm being baptized- and am just as vulnerable. Tears are in my eyes and as I look at her, she turns into a red swirl of color- alarmingly like the day she was shot. And she's leaving me now, just like she almost did oh-so-long-ago.

Taking a hitching breath that show's she's near crying, Callie starts to speak again. "I didn't kiss you in the cafeteria as a stunt," she begins. "I kissed you because I wanted you to know that I didn't care what anyone else thought. I wanted to prove that I was serious. About this. About us. To prove that this isn't some joke, some stunt, or some experimentation."

She looks up, presumably at the moon, which bathes her in a ghostly radiance. My heart is caught in my throat, and the golden afterglow of the party has completely faded like incense on a whip crack of wind. "I'm starting to wonder if you're as committed to this as I am," she finishes, her voice cracking. I'm frozen. I know I should say something- hell, I NEED to say something but my body's not co-operating. I'm struck mute as she holds her hand high for a cab and one promptly speeds up. She doesn't look my way as she gets in and I'm left in the rain.

By myself.

Just as I had begun.

…………………………………

As a general rule, I don't do apologies. I'm usually the one right, anyways, so why should I? And yet, even today, I know that I need to. Tapley's social ended relatively early, so it's just turning ten as I walk through my door. Alone. Soaking wet and looking like a pathetic wall flower that got stood up. This fuckin' sucks. I change out of the dress into something more comfortable and stare at my phone. I also don't do small talk, and I've learned many a time that trying to apologize for something rarely works over the phone- they can always hang up on you. I know what I have to do.

…………………………………

When she opens the door, her eyes are red and I know that she's been tossing and turning, crying or even a combination of all three. I start talking first and don't give her a chance to interrupt.

"You're right. I love my career. Cardio is an old boys club, true enough, but that shouldn't- it _doesn't _excuse me from not introducing you properly- as-" I take a breath-"my girlfriend. Something more than just a friend. I…-" Dammit. I'm losing steam; my thoughts and my carefully planned speech is going all over the damn place and trying to catch it is like trying to grab fragments of broken eggshells from out of the yolk in the mixing bowl. My words, formerly so clear, so concise, are muddled. Finally I dig deep for courage, and look up, meeting Callie's brown eyes with my own. "My career was what gave me that special glow in me that said 'Yes. I can do this, and rise above everything else that stands in my way.' Dr. Wyatt says that I was empty before-" as I say this, I see her eyebrows rise. Clearly she didn't expect me the 'Therapy Type'. –"and that my career was the only thing that filled me up." Letting out a harsh bitter laugh I press on, needing to purge this, to clean it, and cut it out like a defective valve. "I can't accept not having you with me Callie. If it's my career or you, then I'd choose you." Nothing's left to say. I've bared my soul and it's _horrifying._ Quickly I turn my heel and all but run out of the building, and to the cold and empty sanctuary of my house.

…………………………………….

The lyrics of Adele's Hometown Glory are surfing my brain as I stare at my cell phone. So far, I've missed five calls. The screen starts to light up, and the garishly bright tune assigned to Callie's ringer is jarring on my mind like the smell of tequila during a hangover.

I'm not so sure now. I'm not Erica Hahn, and that's who the call is for. Closing my eyes, I don't answer the phone, and instead curl up in my bed. The phone's silent now, and I'm not sure if I'm happy or sad. I feel like my Dr. Hahn persona and my Erica alias are fighting. My fingers twitch in the direction of the phone. Erica's winning. The phone starts to ring again, and this time I answer.

.

.

"Hello?"


	11. Busted

Author's Note:

Author's Note: 

Sorry for the extreme delay. Karma has decided that this week is the week to kick my ass with life.

………………………………….

There it was. That faltering note in that oh-so-simple word, "Hello". They both heard it and there was a shallow click as Erica swallowed and repeat herself- she didn't think Callie heard. "Hello?" There was silence. Despair and shame yawned and smashed down n the heart surgeon as she realized Callie had probably hung up the phone. Her own phone fell listlessly from her hands and closed with a brutally loud snap as she curled up into the fetal position on the edge of her bed. She, Erica Hahn, had just torn open her soul and emptied it on Calle's doorstep. She thought she'd feel lighter, more open or something, but now she just felt like poorly stitched scar tissue was criss-crossing her heart: angry, red and welling with pain.

Her body was tired from the events of today, from dealing with traumas and just general stress; her mind was weary from losing Timothy Gibson on the table, from her failure to save his life. With a shuddering sob, she snapped her eyes shut, not letting herself cry-_again. _All she wanted now was the simple, peaceful oblivion of sleep. Actually, what she wanted was sleep true- but the type of sleep she had had before Callie Torres had become more than a best friend. Before she came to Seattle Grace. Curling up even tighter, her wish was granted, for she slipped into nothingness-

_-and woke up. It was still her room, and the memories from the day's events were still with her. Damn. Sleep wasn't supposed to be like this. Something hot was on her face and she realized it was her tears. Her vision was blurry, and when she blinked to clear it, Erica saw she was holding up nine fingers. _Now I have to add another, _she thought with the disinterestedness that one would give an ant. Ten fingers. Ten times she'd cried in her life, and most of the later ones taking place at Seattle Grace. Both hands were used. As if she couldn't accept this fact, she curled her fingers into fists and clutched them close to her heart. With another shaky sob, she shut her eyes again, wanting to be far as she could from the events of tonight, in the Dreaming World or the corporeal one._

_Soft kisses were planted on her face, gently taking away her tears. Great. Adding insult to injury now, are we? Erica thought. She knew, just __**knew**__ that those were Callie's lips, and also that those were Callie's thumbs smoothing away her tears. In fact-_

-Callie _was _there, and it wasn't a dream. Erica's eyes opened, and she looked at Callie through tear-spiked eyelashes with an expression of mute shock. For the longest time, it seemed, they stared at each other, like they could fine the meaning to all their problems written in the lines of each other's face. Callie moved first, her fingers reaching out and tracing the blonde's jaw line until her hand cupped her face and her thumb smoothed away yet more tears.

Erica didn't speak- she couldn't. Indeed, that seemed to be her failing point quite recently. So, she let her actions speak for her. Her hand reached out and trace the line of Callie's shoulder to her neck, silently urging her closer, which she did. Their kiss wasn't the usual fiery rush of emotions that had been shared recently, but rather more chastely, as a promise. They broke it simultaneously and looked at each again. Callie's heart almost stopped at the depth of emotion in Erica's face and eyes. It exhilarated and scared the brunette at the same time, for there was a simple, unwavering emotion there: **trust.** Callie didn't speak. She _couldn't_ speak.

In all reality, she didn't have to, for the next thing she knew, her hands were entangled in Erica's gloriously soft blonde hair and they were rolling on the bed, never breaking eye contact. Callie's fingers wandered down to the buttons on Erica's shirt and opened them painfully slowly, making the blonde beneath her blush, like a splash of red paint on a willing canvas.

And that's when it hit her. Sucking in a shaky inhalation of breath, she pulled her lips away from Erica. "Wait- I- we can't do this," she gasped raggedly. The blonde looked at her incredulously. "What? Why the hell-" She began heatedly, and understandably. Both their bodies were completely tangled messes of want and need- they knew it, and so did the other. And thus, that's what made what the brunette say next was immediately incredibly infuriating and endearing: "Time of the month….Erica," she whispered breathily and with a rueful smile. The other raked her hands through her hair and growled as pent up desire was so rudely cooled. "You're going to kill me, Torres," she muttered. They spent a moment looking at each other before Erica broke the silence. "I suppose this means I'm forgiven," she said finally, searching Callie's face for a confirmation. The brunette didn't have to answer- she simply bent down and planted a gentle kiss on Erica's slightly desire-swollen lips.

"You bet."

……………………………………

Fate it seemed, was indeed trying to smash the two in to the ground in an unmerciful pulp during the next few days. It was as if traumas, rotator cuff repairs and bone fractures were the name of the game, and heart attacks, angioplasties and CABGs the order of the day. They barely had enough time in between surgeries to grab something to eat and a quick, "How was your day?" before pagers would go off and half of the cafeteria would jump away from their salads, sandwiches and what-have-you to respond.

It was after work when Erica and Callie met in the elevator and the brunette leaned forward, tapping the button. A slight frown was on Erica's face- she'd lost another patient. Callie cut the older woman a glance and snagged her pinky within her own. "How are you holding up?" she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. Erica shrugged. "I'll get over it," she answered curtly.

Callie understood. Losing a patient was never a thing that put a spring in your step. If anything, it was like putting cement blocks on your feet and jumping into white river rapids. The door chimed open to reveal a brooding looking Sloan. Him and Callie exchanged a look and glanced away uncomfortably. The events of a few weeks ago weren't forgotten between them, that much was clear; however they were trying at least to patch things up. The two women stepped out of the elevator, and Callie could feel Mark's eyes burning on her back. She blew out a quiet sigh and entwined the rest of her fingers with Erica's, who cut her a quick look, then looked over her shoulder. Oh. That's what it was then.

It was silent in the car, each mired in their thoughts. "I think we should move in together," Callie blurted. Erica's hands shifted on the steering wheel a little before she asked, quietly, "Are you sure about that?" Callie was a little taken aback. "Sure, I mean- well, why not? I mean, most of the time, I _do _wake up at your house," she answered, a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips as she said that. Erica smiled as well, but it didn't last as long as Callie's.

"I'm just not sure we're ready yet," the heart surgeon mused as she turned into the parking lot of Yang's apartment building. Callie sat in her seat, fidgeting uncomfortably. _This isn't going the way I wanted, _she thought. _Dammit…should've just kept my mouth shut. I'm always rushing, never stopping to think-_

Without saying anything Callie unbuckled her seat belt and began to get out of the car when Erica's hand darted out and snagged her wrist. "Callie," she began, and it was in the same tone of voice that Callie used on Erica in front of the hospital on Cement Boy day, which seemed like a million years since. Erica made sure that she had the other woman's complete attention before she started speaking. "Tonight wasn't a good night. It just- it just wasn't," she said, blowing out a tired sigh. "But, rest assured, we'll talk about this tomorrow, alright?" She waited until Callie nodded slowly and then gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze and a smile before releasing it and watching Callie walk into the building.

Erica sighed and flexed her fingers; trying to get them to loosen from the claws of stress they'd been all day. What the hell was going on with her? She didn't know, but she thought that a night of actual _sleeping _would do her a world of good, and absolve that knot of tension that was residing in her stomach. She didn't like it-at all. She'd had that feeling when her dad discovered her mom and the paralegal, and then she had it just before she learned her father had died. Erica knew to trust her instincts- they saved many a patient before by telling Erica just to check something _one last time _and in doing so, found a small but deadly clot.

And now what her instincts were telling her was that something bad- _very _bad was going to happen, and no amount of sleep could simply make it go away.

………………………………….

Callie was walking away from a consult, lost in her musings of what had happened last night when a hand pulled her into an on-call room. It was Erica and she had a sheepish grin on her face. "I have surgeries back to back, and if we're going to talk I'd rather it not be interrupted," she explained. She took a deep breath. "I….Callie, like I've said, I'm not good at small talk, so I'll just go ahead and say this: I'm not ready. I…I'm not able-" the words twisted in her mouth like an undesirable article of food; not able sounded too much like 'can't' and Erica hated that word-"able to take this step…" Her hands, usually so deft and in control, were weaving wild patterns in the air as she tried to express what she felt. Callie felt her stomach fall down to her feet, and she began to wonder if- no. She can't allow herself to think that.

She held up a hand and stopped Erica. "Never mind- just go to your surgery," she said, her words coming out curter than she intended. She closed her eyes and rubbed them. Turning she stumbled out of the on-call room when Erica seized her wrist in some sort of replay of last night.

"Callie I-"

"Just go! It's not a big deal!"

Erica released her wrist, but the other woman still didn't leave, instead just staring at the floor. "Drinks at Joe's, then? We still need to talk…" Erica finally said, her voice trailing off. She hated when she did that- it showed indecision.

Still looking at the ground, Callie nodded, and Erica's pager beeped distressingly loud in the thick silence between them. The ortho surgeon did nothing but open the door with downcast eyes. "I'll see you," she muttered as Erica stepped past with a lingering glance over her shoulder.

………………………………….

She wasn't there. In fact, she was two hours late. Callie thoughtfully rolled her shot glass of tequila between her fingers and dimly realized somewhere in the back of her alcohol muddled brain that she'd probably never show. She felt a buzz in her pocket and she pulled out her phone to reveal a text from Erica:

_There's one last trauma, and I'll be out of here…are you at Joe's?_

Callie briefly contemplated answering then with a tired shake of her head, closed her phone and tucked it back into her pocket. Bringing the whole 'let's move in together' thing was never a good idea, Callie decided, even if it seemed like a good one at the time. Hearing that Erica wasn't ready cast some serious doubts for Callie. About their relationship, and a whole lotta things in between. Christ, what a fucking mess. She sighed and raked a hand through her curls. Part of her, the rational part, that is, could sort of see where Erica was coming from. But that part was fast losing its fight to stay alive in Callie's tequila bemused brain. Seeing the doubt, actual _doubt _in none other than Ice Queen, Erica Hahn's eyes- well….

Tossing her shot back, she waved her hand at Joe for another.

"Make it two, Joe," said a voice from beside her. Mark materialized, seemingly out of nowhere. "You and Hahn have a fight?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Wordlessly Callie nodded. The music swirled in her brain pleasantly and she smiled crookedly at Mark. "You wanna dance?" He seemed to consider it then smile and held out his hand.

They say dancing is a vertical expression of what two lovers do.

Mark and Callie expressed it. Repeatedly.

Callie woke up the morning after and the bar of bright light slanted into her eyes as a solid crash of brilliant pain. She groaned and shut her eyes, rolling over sheets that seemed disturbingly familiar. _Oh God. _She opened her eyes again and took in the unsettlingly familiar sights of Mark's room at the Archfield. Jesus. Sweet Mother. This cannot be happening. She scrambled out of the bed and started pulling on clothes while trying to fight back tears. She checked her phone and noticed three missed calls from Erica, along with texts that ranged from furious to morose. Shit.

The shower was running, and that was good. That meant she'd have to deal with mark something she couldn't really handle right now. She tottered out of the hotel room on legs that seemed now so completely unsure.

For the simple fact was this: she cheated on Erica She'd done what tore her marriage apart. She'd done what she despised Izzie and George for doing. She had, in fact, betrayed Erica's trust. The memory of that night when they made up on the night of Tapley's social came crashing back to her. She remembered all too well that depth of emotion in Erica's eyes as she gazed up at her, blonde hair spread out like a halo. The depth of emotion that was **trust**, and quite simply, she'd taken Erica's trust and let it dissolve, slip away from between her fingers like a fistful of sand under the waves of a beach.

And yet, as tempting as it was, she couldn't _not _tell Erica, and keep lying to her. As she drove to SGH, Callie's hands tightened on the steering wheel. She had to tell her. She _had _to.

………………………………….

_Well Hahn, let's face it, _Erica thought tiredly as she looked at the surgical board with exhausted eyes, _life is kicking your ass right about now. _And yet, the worst part was that the knot of tension and unease had only tightened in the last few days. Something wasn't right. Something was wrong, and it was nagging at Erica like an itch between your shoulder blades that you can't reach. She tried to get to Joe's last night- she really did. She was even pulling on her clothes when her pager beeped incessantly and she actually groaned out in frustration. She sent the text and didn't get an answer, which only tightened the knot of unease. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bottle of chilled wine. Well, those and Callie.

The thought brought a wan smile to her lips as she studied the board and noted she had a surgery with Karev today. Hm.

"Erica." Ah, even before she spoke, Erica knew it was _her._ There was something just so…uniquely Callie-y to the atmosphere about her that Erica picked up on. She turned and opened her mouth to say something and closed it. There it was. The knot in her stomach was so tight that it was unbearable, and the reason was written all over Callie's face: guilt. Guilt in epic proportions. "Can….can we talk?" She began. Wordlessly Erica led the other woman lead her to an on-call room and walked in first with jaw tight and arms crossed. She didn't look her way, just faced away from Callie into the dark depths of the darkened room. And waited.

………………………………….

God, it was so hard to say the goddamn words. She tried a million different combinations of words, tried a million different speeches, tried a million different ways to tell Erica. All those boiled down to the same thing: she slept with Mark. She knew guilt was in black and white all over her face like an obituary in the paper. She took a deep breath and look at Erica's back, and said four simple words.

.

.

.

.

.

"I slept with Mark."

Author's Note:

This chapter did NOT go the way I wanted to; that's why I took so long writing it. The next one should be better- I promise!


	12. Would've, Could've, Should've

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

Another Erica POV chapter.

…………………………….

What good does being a heart surgeon do if you can't even fix your own goddamn self? When you can't even reach inside, pull out that tangled, messy, _unorganized __mess _of emotions called the heart?

The more rational part of my mind, the one I've been trying to use more often to no avail, says that she was probably drunk. That she was impaired and so was her decision making.

The more emotional part of my mind- the part that's been, disturbingly so, getting more involved with my life- can't deal with that right now, and all I hear after her confession is the blood roaring like a furnace inside my head. Christ. I lick my lips and close my eyes and count to ten. And when I open them, I know she's still there, still waiting. I push through my emotions and get to the cold hard facts: she probably took my not being ready as a sign that I wanted to end this, or something when in reality, nothing could be farther from the truth. I'm still at that point where opening up is a big deal- can't she see that?

I breathe deep and clear my head, the same way I do before I enter an OR. "I'm late for a surgery," I finally say, my voice coming out curt and short. I'm not sure how I feel about my tone. Huh.

I don't think I'm sure about much anymore.

…………………………….

Ahh….see? Now this makes sense. I'm elbow deep in a forty-year old man who needs a valve repair and as I pleat the lining of the valve leaflet, I'm Dr. Hahn again. Not Erica- she stepped out to lunch as soon as the words left Callie's mouth. Cold, impassionate and with armor as smooth as ice. But that was before Callie discovered a small chink that not even I knew was there.

As I pull the needle through the cardiac tissue to finish the repair, I resist the urge to look up into the observatory window. I feel her eyes on me like a desperate caress and I firmly have to walk away from it, as hard as it is. As soon as I'm done with the surgery I walked away from the table and pull off my gloves. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her jump out of her seat and go through the door. I know where she's going- to try and meet me and talk.

But….I can't do that. Ugh. I hate that goddamn word- _can't. _ It's so back-of-the-throat, and it's said like spitting out a piece of food you're choking on.

I spend the rest of the day in back-to-back surgeries and consults. It seems that everyone and their mother have heart issues- everything from angioplasties to heart transplantations and thoracotomies. I usually don't wheel and deal with the lungs- in my opinion its way better to work with the heart. But…cardiothoracics means the lungs too. Maybe helping someone breathe and still get air will help me get over the way my own lungs can't draw enough breath.

The day winds to a close and as I hang my scrub cap in the locker, I hear the door open and shut quietly and I know it's her. I pick up her scent instantly- cherry blossoms and vanilla. On the first few days when we were going out I couldn't get enough of it. I'd wake up first and bury my nose in her soft, ebony hair, drinking in her scent like I was dying in the desert.

I'm dying now. Just….maybe I don't know it yet. Or even worse- I do and I can't do anything about it.

The air is rife with things unsaid between us. I'm already all changed- all that remains is to just let my hair down, brush it and get the hell out of here; away from her, away from Sloan and away from this hospital. Still facing my locker I look up and see her in the reflection of the mirror I'd hung in there- and I see she's staring right back at me. God, she looks _terrible. _No. That's not true. Callie Torres probably couldn't ever look terrible. She looks…disheveled. Her eyes and curls don't have the brilliant sheen they usually do, and her face looks wearied and strained- probably similar to mine. I don't say anything; just stare at her in the reflection of my mirror. Finally I tear my eyes away from her and look down, my fingers reaching up to pull the bobby pins and clips out of my hair.

Except….

She's already there, doing it for me. I swallow with a seemingly loud dust-dry click in my throat as her caramel hands carefully, almost _reverently _start to close around my own and guide them down to my sides. I'm still looking down as her hands return to my hair and gently pull out the first pin. She does it more tenderly than I do- most of the time when I let my hair down it feels like an angry cat has gotten caught up in it and is determined to tear her way out.

By the third pin she pulls out, the world is blurry.

By the first clip she removes, the first tear falls.

By the second clip, my eyes are burning and my cheeks are wet.

By the time she's finished, a choking sob escapes my throat despite my best efforts.

The smell of vanilla and those goddamn cheery blossoms surrounds me and only intensifies when she gently leans her forehead against the nape of my neck. I feel her shudder and dimly realize she's crying as well. Through the haze of my emotions I grasp that she's apologizing over and over. I feel…oddly detached, somehow. It's unsettling. And it makes me angry that only _now _I feel cold when I could've used it so many other times.

I'm not sure how long we stand like that when I finally look up at the mirror again. Her face is streaked with mascara and sorrow. Dammit. I can't stand to see her this way. I turn and cup her face in my hands, locking eyes with her. Using my thumbs I clear away her tears along with the make up. Reaching behind me into my bag without looking, I pull out a small packet of tissues and wipe away what I couldn't get off with my thumbs. One of my hands finds hers and gently presses the tissues in her palm.

Callie's still looking at me and I still don't say anything. I can't. I understand- to some extent- of what she did and why, but…I can't do this. I shouldn't have fooled myself into thinking I could. _No relationships at work. _I broke my rule, and my heart's broken because of it. I can't do this anymore. I'm _not _going to do this anymore.

I turn away and jerkily throw everything in my bag and slam my locker shut. I'm still looking downcast when she blocks my way. I stand there and finally raise my eyes to her face. She reaches out with her hands and cups my face, then steps forward for a kiss.

Dammit….my resolve is weakening and for an oh-so-brief moment I consider making out with her right there in the locker room. Her lips are soft against mine and her thumb is stroking my cheek like I did in _the_ elevator. For a moment I consider forgiving her, and then just as fast, I know I can't. Forgiving her would mean getting back together with her, and that means possibly getting hurt again. I can't do it- I _won't _do it. My lips are still, unmoving under hers and she feels this- feels it keenly- for she leans back and begins to speak:

"Erica, I…-"

I know what she's trying to say. She's said it before, and she's meant it every time she said it. But as I know and realize this, I can't hear it again. I stop her with my finger on her lips and the look in her eyes tears me apart, piece by piece until nothing's left. Nothing left that matters, anyway. Her hands fall listlessly to her sides and I can almost hear a macabre crystalline chime as both our hearts break as I walk out of the locker room.

…………………………….

They say that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. This tells me two things about whoever said that:

They were a goddamn liar

And

- They didn't know Callie Torres.

I feel it inside of me, eating away at my insides like termites in a big, cold empty mansion. I curl up on my bed, on the stark, cold white sheets. The physical comfort does nothing for me now. My phone buzzes on the night stand, making an angry rasp against the bare wood and I glance up at it. It continues, like a wasp caught in a jar. But as soon as I raise my hand to answer it, it makes that beep when I miss a call.

Huh.

Maybe it's a sign.

I pick up my phone and listen to the voicemail, and it just about destroys me in a flash of guilt, anger and remorse. _Erica…._-there was quiet, filled by a shuddering breath- _I know that you're feeling angry…betrayed….and I know that what I did was wrong. But, dammit! I _am _sorry, whether it'll take a million years of convincing you. _There was more silence as she struggled for something else to say. _I...I guess I'll see you at work. _

And that was it.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

I don't give my self the luxury of deciding and let my tortured body drift off into sleep.

…………………………….

Life is hard. So get used it.

Oh, I know that saying. I know it _well. _But what makes it even harder when a major trauma comes in. A speeding motorcyclist slipped and his bike flipped over and crushed his side in, so that ribs are pin-cushioning his lungs and one is dangerously close to his heart. Bones. Ortho. Both words are synonymous with Callie. Along with amazing, sexy, beau- nope. Can't let myself go down that route.

I see her. She's standing at the nurse's station with dark marks under her eyes, paging slowly through a chart, looking but not seeing. Oh, I know how that is- I know it well. I spent about two hours this morning doing the same myself. I take a deep breath and walk over. "I need you for a consult," I say, jamming my hands into my pockets. She looks up slowly, as if she can't believe I'm talking to her. She opens her mouth and I can tell she about to say something else, but then changes tack.

"How bad is it?" She asked instead. "Pretty bad. They're taking him to get a CT scan to check for any brain damage, and then we're up. OR 3." With my hands in my pockets I turn away, silently begging for her to say _something _because I cannot. She doesn't, and the next time I see her, I'm elbow deep in a patient, repairing a torn atrium and a punctured lung. We brush, and the touch is _electrifying. _This is _ridiculous. _I wasn't sure if she felt it the same as I, but a quiet clearing of her throat and a glance my way makes me think that she did.

I don't look at her; I'm scared that if I do, then I'll lose it, and I'll sever something that wasn't supposed to be severed. The operation is finished without a hitch and I walk fast. Talking to Callie at this point would be….unwise. My emotions are all over the place, not in neat boxes with labels the way I had them before. I walk into the scrub room to wash my hands and bam. She's already there, arms crossed. "Why won't you even talk to me?" She snaps, anger making her flush. Oh god. Even in anger, she's beautiful. I grip the edges of the sink and take a deep breath, not looking at her, and most definitely trying to not think of the incredibly intimate- if not a little bittersweet- moment we had in the locker room.

"What do you want from me, Callie?" I ask, my head hanging down. I hate how it sounded: defeated. Erica Hahn is _never, __ever _defeated. Except….this time….maybe I am. "I want you to speak to me!" she says, throwing up her hands. My knuckles are white from gripping the sink so tightly. Goosebumps ripple along my skin as I hear her come closer, particularly against the nape of my neck where she rested her forehead in the locker room. "I want to forgive her. I _need _to forgive her. But I can't. I won't. For crying out loud! This is like a dumb ass case of would've, could've, should've.

I raise my head and stare out into the emptying OR as they're wheeling out the patient out to ICU. Finally, I allow myself to look at her. She's got her arms crossed and she's looking furious with a steady dose of sorrow mixed in there as well. "What do you _really _want from me, Callie?" I ask, softer this time. She looks at me carefully, taking every detail of my face. "You," she answers. "You have the quite the way of showing it," I mutter, glaring back out of the window. Ouch. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to grab them back but it's about as useful as grabbing smoke out of the air. The tension raises about ten million notches and she storms out of the room.

Awesome.

I've really fucked it up now.

…………………………….

It was two days after the scrub room incident when Yang comes up to me. "What is it, Yang?" I snap, not looking up from charts. She clears her throat a little hesitantly. "Ah….Dr. Hahn? You….you need to talk to Callie," she blurts out at me. I stop writing and slowly fix her with my glare, the oh-so-infamous one. "Yang, I don't recall ever telling you we could giggle about my social life," I growl. She looks intimidated but stands her ground. "With all due respect, Dr. Hahn, you don't live with her," she answers. There's a beat of awkward silence as we stare each other down. "She's moping, and now she won't even get out of the couch. Talk to her, for Chris sake's! I don't speak girl- that's your area! After all, you're a 'really good listener!'" She snaps finally and stalks away.

Well.

I'm speechless.

…And where the hell did the really good listener come from?

…………………………….

She opens the door and I see what Yang said was true. She looks like she hasn't had sleep for days and she's dressed carelessly in a pair of sweat pants and a cotton shirt. I don't wait for her to invite me in- if she was going to anyway. I step forward, and I forgive her

Kissing her is simply amazing. Her lips are like the softest silk and when she does respond….._glorious. _We break apart and we stare hard at each other. Dammit. I know that I can never keep away from her- from us. "You're never going to guess who pushed me here," I say with a smile. She smiles back and it makes my heart lift to the heights of the gods. "Who?"

"Yang."

Callie lets out a soft chuckle and kisses me again. "And," I add a little breathlessly when we come up for air, "she called me a 'really good listener'. What the hell was that from?" Callie laughs. "On the day of Addison's visit, she complained about you and I told her you were a really good listener," she answers sheepishly.

A good listener? _Me? _Huh.

We slowly kiss our way to the couch when she pushes me back at arms length, breathing hard. Something's in her eyes, something I can't define. "I suppose this means I'm forgiven," she said quietly, with the same old sparkle in her eye that's so uniquely Callie. I don't waste my time with words- I cup her face with my hands and kiss her like there's no tomorrow. And for all I know, there could _not _be a tomorrow and I'd be happy to go, just like this. But I smile at her all the same and answer:

"You bet."

The next thing I know, Callie's t-shirt is lying on the floor along with my purse, jack and own shirt. We're standing face and I let my fingers trail down her spine as I pull her closer. My index fingernail traces her vertebrae and I feel her moan slightly against my mouth. Slowly, her hands come to my waist and start to slowly inch my pants down. God, this is _killing _me. Never breaking contact, I lay down on the couch, pulling Callie with me. Her dark hair falls around us and there it is: cherry blossoms with vanilla.

I raise my knee a little and she rests on my thigh, and I can feel the intense heat radiating from her when she grinds down a little, and a golden starburst of satisfaction blooms in my mind, while something else is also blooming a bit farther down. A thought smashes its way through my lust fogged brain. "Callie- wait!" I say breathlessly. "What??" She snaps and searches my face. Comprehension dawns on her face and she lets out a frustrated growl as she hangs her head. "This is ridiculous! We always seem to have the worst timing, don't we?" she asks. I can't help but to start laughing. She looks up at me with an incredulous look. "You mean you're not on your-" she begins and I have to choke my answer through my laughter: "Nope!" She looks at me with an almost sinfully cute pout and I swear….I almost _die. _She nips my shoulder and growls against my skin, "Not funny, Erica, not funny." I take my time responding, instead choosing to slide off her bra straps and slowly kissing my way across her smooth skin, making her inhale sharply and shiver as I reach the small hollow of her throat.

"Oh c'mon Callie….you have to learn how to take a joke."


	13. Leap Of Faith

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

You know, I have say I kind of like writing from Erica's perspective a lot, so here's another chapter. Good? Bad? Mediocre? Let me know what you guys think!

……………………………

Bask is defined as _to take great pleasure or satisfaction._

And, after forgiving Callie, that's exactly what I do. Or, at least, until my phone rings and it's the hospital. I'm on-call and one of my patients in ICU is showing signs of post-op fever. Due to his severely weakened condition from the heart transplant, I ordered that if there were any changes to call me. The jarring ring tone I have set to the hospital yanks me out of my basking moment and I squint at the time. Three-forty-six in the morning. Hm…do you think he could've picked a better time to show symptoms?

With a small sigh, I disentangle myself from Callie's arms and this wakes her up. "How bad is it?" she murmurs, still half asleep. This makes me smile. If it were anyone else, they would've grumbled endlessly about being woken up at this ungodly hour, like people I've been with in the past. But Callie? Oh she knows. She's a doctor, and she knows.

"ICU patient has post-op fever and I told them to page me if he developed symptoms," I mumble, fighting through a yawn. I edge out from under the blanket and start picking up my clothes. I feel her eyes on me when I walk around the room, picking up my pieces of discarded clothing. An idea forms in my mind.

I start working from the bottom up. I begin with my panties and delicately step into them, pulling them up, shifting my hips a little and taking infinite care to make sure that they fit _just so_. I do the same with my pants, smoothing them over my legs, my hands skimming close to the insides of my thighs, pulling the cloth tight. From behind my curtain of slightly mussed blonde hair, I hear her shift to get a better look of my reverse strip tease and I have to bite back my laughter.

Bending down, incredibly, _intensely_ slow, I pick up my bra and my shirt. With sinful delight at Callie's expression, I slowly drag the straps up my arms and fasten it in the back with a flourish. I run my thumbs along said straps and pull them a little before letting go, making sure they're _just tight enough _and gives that quiet snap. With the same deliberateness I had before, I take my shirt and pull it over my head, shaking out my hair so that it flutters over my shoulders, framing my face- and in an appetizing way, if the appreciative sigh Callie just let out was any indication. I smooth my hands down the fabric and along my body, (swaying myself just a little with a small smile) presumably under the assumption of evening out the wrinkles but I think Callie and I know better. My hands smooth my shirt over my backside and that's when she lets out a strangled groan. Without even looking at her, I can already almost _see_ the expression in her eyes. With the biggest smirk I've had in a long time, I walk over to where she is on the couch and kiss her lightly, murmuring against her lips, "I'll see you at work, _Dr. Torres._" I walk out without casting a look over my shoulder and I'm pretty sure her jaw is still on the floor.

Hm.

I'm not sure that dressing has ever been so much fun before, or as distracting.

……………………………

In school, science was basically my bitch. If I got anything less than an A, then I'd be a real hard ass about it; it was my _zone, _my _happy place_. Science for me is a safe harbor, something I can always go back on in my time of need. If science was my temple, then cold hard facts were the pillars, always there and plain and simple. So, it seemed only natural that I'd choose medicine. Doctors are always in control- they know what to do when a patient codes on the table or off of it, when a clot shows up like an unwanted and unexpected visitor, when a major trauma comes in.

But…

That knowledge comes at a price, right?

Endless days and nights memorizing the five W's of the causes of post-op fever: (among other things)

**W**ater

**W**ind

**W**ound

**W**alking

**W**onder drug

Ah yes…the years of an intern and a resident. I was smashed into the ground by all the men in the goddamn old boys club of Cardiothoracics, was told I'd never be good enough, but…..

I wouldn't trade it for the world. I learned everything I know from them, and if the pager's message is any indication, I'll need _everything. _

……………………………

Cancer is never a fun partner to dance the foxtrot with. True, heart tumors are rare, with most bring benign. But when I get paged for a consult by SGH's on-call oncologist, I can't help but feel a small thread of thrill within the heavy metal jacket of professionalism. I can count the number of cardiac cancer patients I've treated on one hand. I walk into the room and see the oncologist there with my resident for the day, Karev. That small thread is still there. I know I can do this. I know I can go into this woman's heart and take out any if not all tumors. I know this, because I am who I am: Erica Hahn, Head of Cardiothoracics. I know my stuff, quite simply.

They say ignorance is bliss.

As I look at my patient through the window of the door, I definitely believe that. The oncologist's resident chirps out the patient's report in a crisp fashion. She pauses only once at the beginning of the report to clear her throat. "Olivia Harris is a 37 year old female with multiple Cardiac Sarcomas. Diagnosis was made with a chest echo, CT scan and EKG. Prognosis is set at approximately six and a half months. She's in line for donor heart transplantation with blood type AB-. She has a signed DNR order. We do, however, have a positive donor in Wisconsin- all we need is consent." She finishes and steps back. During her report I was leafing through films and holding x-rays to the light, narrowing my eyes pensively at both.

She doesn't have a lot going for her- one of the rarest blood types in the U.S. and multiple malignant tumors in _the heart _to boot. But finding a heart of compatible blood type…well, that's pretty amazing. But what I can't understand for the life of me is why she'd sign a DNR order when a heart could potentially be on the way. I ask as much and get a shrug for an answer. Damn…why are people are just stupid sometimes? I decide to find out.

Opening the door to the patient's room, I pull the curtain back and pick up the chart just to familiarize myself with any details. The patient watches me with dark eyes, taking me in. "Ms. Harris,-"

"Please, just Olivia."

"Alright, Olivia then…May I ask, why do you have a DNR order when you're in line for an organ transplant?"

There was silence and then a sigh from her. "Chances are that I might die before the heart even reaches here, right?" She takes my silence for an answer. "If I…what is the word the T.V. shows use…Code? If I code before the heart gets here…then it'll be a waste. I want someone else to have a chance as well." She pauses, as if to say more, but rethinks it and remains silent. "I'm not going to rescind it," Olivia adds, her green eyes flashing. I finish paging through the chart and clip it back on the foot of the bed. On my way out, I say one thing:

"I hope you reconsider." After all, in the case of a DNR orders there's not much else I can say, or do, no matter who I am, what I do or what I've learned. If someone doesn't want to be saved, it's out of my hands. And that's why DNR orders irritate me the most out of any of the paperwork hoops they have you jump through at a hospital.

Such.

A.

Waste.

……………………………

After the day ends, I drive home and throw myself onto my bed. I didn't see Callie all day except for a few bites during lunch, and I'm exhausted. Hold on. Correction: I didn't see her until _right now_. As I flop down on my bed, the sheets soft and white, I bump into a form. Callie. Whoa. Okay.

"Evening," I mumble my face still in the sheets. I hear her shift and brush my hair away from my face. "Your house is closer than Christina's apartment. I hope you don't mind...?" She says quietly. I shake my head, content just to feel her fingers smoothing away the tangles in my hair, and with them, the tensions of the day. But….there it is. The pink elephant in the room- the whole topic of moving in. Like I've said before, I love order and being in control. Not knowing what's next, or not knowing what to do- **ugh**. That sort of stuff _kills _me. In that spirit, I don't usually take risks. So that's why it terrifies me when I make the hurdle, and leap into the unknown:

"You can move in if you still want."

There it is. The bald striking truth. There's silence, and maybe it's just my nerves, or stress from the day, but it stretches far too long for my liking. I raise my head and she's still sitting there, hair a little mussed from sleeping before I came. She doesn't say anything, but leans forward and kisses me softly against my lips, smiling. It's true, I'm a bit of an awkward socialist, and I can't read all the symbols. But….

I think that means she wants to.

I don't respond for a bit. It's one of those slow, comfortable, content kisses that you share when both of you are just really tired, but still want to express something. However, I'm guessing from the way Callie's breathing increases and her slight moan when I open my mouth that the simple content from before is quickly evolving into something else.

Mmmm.

Can't say I'm not the same way right about now.

……………………………

It's natural for human beings to constantly want things, whether they are mental, spiritual or material. And whenever we do feel something even remotely approaching satisfied, it only lasts for the afterglow, and then we're back at where we started.

Yet, with Callie, I feel more than sated. Sitting and lounging in the warm radiance, slowly tracing patterns in her soft skin, I feel like I can do this. No, I'm not jumping a million miles ahead and saying we should get platinum eternity bands, but…I could definitely see myself doing this: waking up, with not a single care in the world.

At least, not a single care until we're both paged back to the hospital.

The shrill beeping knifes through my sleepy languor and I already know what's happening: the donor heart's on its way. Callie stirs as well and looks at the clock. "Shit! I'm late for a surgery!" She yelps, tearing out of bed. I follow suit, going to my dresser to look for clothes. A whip crack of thunder makes me glance outside, and I walk over to the window to open it a little, letting the chilliness and the beautiful smell of ozone flood the room. It's the final thing for me to wake up. Callie walks up behind me and rests her chin on my shoulder. She worries my earlobe with her tongue and teeth making me squirm and smile. I swear….if we both didn't have to go to work….well.

Hah. Who needs Folgers when you've got this?

We both arrive at the hospital, but Callie's late for her slipped disk operation. It's about seven-thirty in the morning, and as I walk to finish a pre-op examination on Ms. Harris. And, lo-and-goddamn-behold, as I ask her to breathe deeply for me to measure her respiratory levels, she codes. Go figure, for god's sake. Instinct takes over, and I shout for a crash cart like I have times before. All thoughts besides getting this woman's heart to beat again are thrown out the window. Except, one of the nurses stops me.

"Dr. Hahn, this woman has a DNR order!"

Shit...I'd forgotten about that.

Again, I ask myself why people are so goddamn stupid. Having a DNR yet still in line for an organ transplantation? What the hell is that?

And thus, two crossroads open up before me. The professional in me screams that I have the skills; I have the talent to save this woman's life. And yet, that same professional restrains me by reminding me pointedly of this woman's wish to not be dragged back into this life.

On the flip side, the donor heart is on its way. And for this woman to so…_selfishly _refuse it, refuse the _gift _of life- that's unacceptable. There's a reason that doctors are always on-call in cases of organ transplants: they don't keep very well. So if she dies, then a heart will be washed out, and the chance for someone else to live that is actually smart about this goddamn thing will lose it.

So, I must make a choice. Bring her back from the edge of death's threshold, or let her sail away in the wake of a wasted heart.

I'm at the crossroads, and I make my decision.

I leap.


	14. The Scientist

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

Thanks for the reviews-seriously.

I must've started and re-started this chapter a million times…

Just hoping I did well…your thoughts?

Oh and this chapter has some content that could be considered on the higher range of the 'T' rating…just sayin' as a heads-up…And hopefully I did well on it…'cause I don't really have expertise writing in that area, if ya know what I mean. xD

……………………………………..

Erica had leaped.

Just….whether she had done so onto solid ground was indeed questionable.

She had dealt with DNR orders before, so logically, it shouldn't have been such a big deal when she clenched her hands into fists and waited for the jarring keen of the monitor to solidify into one, constant, sound. But it was. The silence was thick in the room, everyone else mired in the swamp of their own thoughts.

This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. You came to a hospital to get healthy, not to sign a DNR order and waste away while staff was _right _there to resuscitate you.

A nurse snapped off the machine and Erica looked at her watch. "Time of death… 8:16." She turned and walked away, not looking where she was going. When she did look up, she was in one of the conference rooms that doctors tell family members the news of their conditions or their inevitable death. She sat in one of the chairs and raked her hands through her blonde hair, closing her eyes.

The professional in her kept saying in a cold dispassionate voice that she was right in doing what she did; that if she still wanted a career by the end of the day, then what she did was right. The very same cold voice that had kept her safe and distant all these years. And yet…she knew it wasn't enough anymore. Ever since Callie had cracked her open, that voice, the 'Dr. Hahn' persona simply wasn't going to cut it anymore. The threat of breaking down hovered over the very near horizon like some preying cloud, but Erica wouldn't let it come closer. Taking a deep breath, she stood and walked out of the room, colder than she had been in a long time.

……………………………………..

She made it home before Callie and stepped into the shower, needing to purge at least some of what she did from her body and- hopefully- spirit. She felt like she was standing on quicksand, and each step or move she made to try and get out of it only pulled her deeper. The simple fact was that Erica Hahn felt betrayed by something she felt she could always rely on: science. Learning early from her complete hell of a childhood, Erica knew to follow science- to follow the simple facts, so cut and dried unlike the mess that was emotions. And science had led her true- on the path that was straight and narrow. But today….she couldn't help but feel that science had betrayed her. It wasn't losing the patient that cut the deepest- it was standing there, hands jammed into pockets so instinct wouldn't take over and bring that woman back from the razor edge of death.

When she lost a patient on the table- which wasn't often- she would still feel a little part of her had died inside. But the one consoling fact was that she had done her goddamned best, no matter what. This? Losing a patient and not doing her job just because a slip of paper ordered that she didn't? It was worse than losing someone on the table under the glaring stare of the OR lights. Perhaps that's why she was so broken up over this: science couldn't keep her from feelings, and therein was the betrayal:

_**Science**__ wasn't enough anymore. _

Erica leaned her forehead against the smooth shower tiles and turned the cold knob all the way. She needed to be arctic again, before something like this could thaw her and send her down the drain. But even as this thought crossed her mind, she knew that becoming frozen wouldn't solve her problems, because ice could shatter, break and melt.

Just like her.

……………………………………..

When Callie came home that day, she had heard what happened and since then had an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. She opened the door and saw Erica's black jacket on the hook near the door and her purse dumped on the floor. The sound of a shower pulled her eyes up the stairs. Nibbling her lip, Callie walked up them and knocked on the bathroom door. "Erica?" No answer. Her disquiet grew. She turned the knob and opened the door. The first thing she noticed was that it was cold- what's more, there was no steam- and Erica usually liked her showers hot. She stepped over Erica's clothes and looked into the shower. Her breath caught in her throat.

Erica Hahn, normally so confident, so elegant and in control, was sitting on the floor of the shower, knees drawn up and arms hugging them with her head on her arms. "Erica??" At the sound of her name, her head slowly turned and met Callie's gaze. The formerly coolly amused and sharp blue of Erica's eyes seemed washed out and devoid of sentiment. "I just killed two people today," she said, her voice rougher than usual from emotion. They stared at each other a moment and then Callie reacted, pulling off her clothes and joining Erica in the shower.

The water was freezing, each drop a needle point of frost onto Callie's skin. Erica, however, seemed colder, her skin as pale as marble and just as cool. Hugging her tightly, Callie reached up without looking and turned the knob for warm water. Stroking her hair and cradling Erica's head on her shoulder, Callie didn't ask any questions, knowing that she'd probably learn soon. Her left hand sought the blonde's, and their fingers entwined tightly. Callie smiled a sad, little smile but said nothing, only kissed the top of her head and tightened her hug. She'd be there, because whatever demons would try to tear Erica apart, she'd be there to fight them.

……………………………………..

"Erica, you need to eat something…," Callie began, a slight note of pleading entering her voice. It was two days after Callie found her in the shower, and now Erica was curled up on the edge of the bed, facing the windows and looking at the view. There was no answer. She hadn't moved since Callie dressed her in a blue cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. Raking her hands through her hand in frustration, Callie glared at Erica's back while chewing her lip. Giving out a growl of frustration, she headed into the bathroom to start a bath- scalding hot. Erica heard her growl and her footsteps fading footsteps, then the muted roar of water filling the tub. She closed her eyes. She _knew _she should probably get out of this bed, but…transforming a thought into an action had never taken so long in Erica's brain, which was still reeling from a few days ago. She was taught to save lives, and the fact that she had basically wasted two was like a splinter in her foot that evaded all attempts for extraction with tweezers. Callie's numerous attempts to get her out of bed were usually met with silence and with Erica shutting her eyes to try to get away from it all.

But this time, with what Callie had in mind, simply closing one's eyes wouldn't get one away from it. Erica was drifting off into featureless sleep when two strong arms slung her around a pair of shoulders in a fireman's carry. "What- what the hell are you doing??" she yelped as Callie carried her down to the bathtub and unceremoniously slung her into the scalding hot water of the tub. Choking and spluttering, she wiped her hair and water out of her eyes and started to climb out, but Callie was already climbing in and tugged her back in. Not letting her get a word edgewise, the ortho surgeon threaded her fingers through Erica's hair and cupped her face. The blonde's eyes were still closed, but opened when Callie barked

"Look at me!"

She was gratified to see that some of the old Erica was back- anger was fast filling those oh-so-blue eyes.

"I will _not_ stand idle while you waste away. You did everything that you could-"

"No, I didn't, Callie!! That's just it! I let her die, let her go and I could've brought her back- BUT I DIDN'T-!"

"-everything that you could _under the circumstances,_" Callie firmly continued, paying no heed to the other's passionate outburst.

The heart surgeon locked gazes with her. The cold, hard packed ground that held the pennant of her guilt was quick becoming soft, yielding mud under the scrutiny of Callie's liquid brown eyes.

"Erica, you're tearing yourself up over something you couldn't _possibly _have control over." There was a beat of silence when Callie took a breath. "And I think I…I'm much too…fond…of you to do that," she said, her voice dropping to a faint whisper. Erica simply stared at her. Both were pretty sure of what she was going to say in the first pause of her sentence. The heart surgeon didn't trust herself to speak; instead she swallowed past the knot of emotion in her throat and reached up and kissed Callie. It was like the elevator kiss- soft, chaste and opening a few doors along the way.

……………………………………..

Erica opened her eyes. They felt grainy, and stung a little- both indications of a good, long cry. She yawned and sat up. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Last night was the kick in the ass that she desperately needed. Callie was right- it wasn't her fault, and even if she did do something to resuscitate Ms. Harris, then what? Her job could be at stake, and the hospital could potentially lose thousands of dollars for _saving _someone's life. Huh…how ironic. She hated playing patty cake with all those legal catch 22's. She was much more interested in holding a scalpel.

She stood and opened the curtains and windows. It was still raining- part of good ol' Seattle weather, but she didn't mind the damp. She took a quick look at the clock- it was reasonably early in the morning at six-twenty- and then glanced back outside. Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten before releasing it, the same way she did before going into an OR. She glanced in the window and saw Callie in the reflection. Her eyes wandered over the other's woman's face at a leisurely rate. "Feeling better?" She asked, coming up behind her and hugging her waist. Erica turned her head and smiled a little. She had to marvel, when Callie did that….she almost heard an invisible _click. _And…ah there it was. The smell of Callie's cherry-vanilla shampoo surrounded her like a halo and she breathed it in. She'd missed it- being stuck in a pit of self-pity could make one miss the finer points of life. She turned around and hugged Callie. "I'm not sure where I can even _start_ to thank-" she began. The brunette cut her off with a kiss, her lips curling into a smile against the other woman's. "I told you I was serious about this," she murmured, brushing away a sheaf of blonde hair, trailing her fingers behind Erica's head, pulling her closer for a kiss. Oh yes- this was another thing Erica missed in her yawning pit of self-pity.

It was one of those comfortable meeting of the lips that quickly turned into something else as Erica opened the snaps of Callie's shirt and, taking hold of the collar, pulled it down and over her arms so Callie couldn't move them. Wearing a smirk at her mewls of complaint; the heart surgeon pointed her over to the bed with a nod. Callie sat and wondered why the other woman was still standing there near the window. Thoroughly enjoying the way Callie's eyes were watching her every move, Erica slowly peeled off her shirt and tossed it at the foot of the bed, allowing it to fall in a dark colored puddle. Her sweats were next, the dark grey material sliding down her ivory legs as she pushed them down and kicked them off into the darker recesses of the dim room.

Callie swallowed with a suddenly dry throat as she was pushed down and Erica climbed on top of her, still wearing that faint smirk. Her hands slowly went to the fastening of her bra, unclipping it, but she didn't pull it off. Callie's eyes widened and she tried wiggling out of her compromising position with her arms caught in the sleeves. There was nothing more the ortho surgeon wanted than to pull those straps down and kiss her way up to the soft hollows of the other woman's chest. _I swear to God, I'm going to tear this damn shirt_, Callie thought with a bothered groan. Giggling softly, Erica kissed her, with all the slow cooked passion that had been building up. The dark straps fell down her shoulders. She knew damn well what she was doing- and if the frustrated hip surge Callie just did, Erica knew she was going it well. Finally with an outright laugh she took pity on the darker haired woman and, still kissing her, brought her hands up to Callie's caramel colored shoulders. With her nails skimming her shoulders, Erica simultaneously tugged the cloth down past her elbows and raising goose bumps as she went.

Yanking her arms out of her sleeves, Callie couldn't help but let out a victorious snicker at Erica's yelp of surprise when her world was turned upside down- literally. Rocking her hips again, she rolled over and reversed their positions, so that Erica was now the hapless one on bottom. "My turn," Callie said in a husky growl, kissing and nipping her way across the other's chest. She caught the blonde's arms and pinned them over her head, making Erica's mouth twist and murmur, "Not fair." Callie stopped kissing her body and raised her brow. "'Not fair'?" She asked. Erica smiled and winked. "Not fair," she repeated. She was feeling confident and in control- that is, until the knee that Callie had shifted ground against her, making her nerves explode. "Uh God…!" She hissed, eyes rolling back in her head. A slight tremor rocked through her body, making Callie chuckle in smug satisfaction at her handiwork. When Erica opened her eyes, she saw Callie's expression and simply mewled, "Not fair." The ortho surgeon laughed with that dangerously smoky glint in her chocolate eyes and leaned down to kiss her again. "Hun, by the time I'm through with you, you'll be saying a lot more than 'not fair,'" she murmured against her lips, trailing her hand down Erica's side and hooking her fingers onto the side of the blonde's panties.

And then, that's when it happened.

The phone began to ring with a distressingly evil chime, as if smugly interrupting the moment between the two doctors. Both their heads swiveled towards the source: Callie's cell phone. She bit her kiss-swollen lip in an adorable pout. Erica shut her eyes. "Answer it, and then we _need _to finish," she growled. Her voice was thick and even more gravely with desire. Giving one last mind-scorching kiss and a suggestive hip grind, the ortho surgeon rolled off of Erica and picked up her phone, answering breathlessly, "Hello?"

Erica watched her from the bed with lids at half-mast, smiling enticingly at her. But she got a little concerned when Callie's face immediately paled and the Cheshire grin from before fell off her face. The next words she said finally made Erica understand.

"Uh….hi Mom."

Author's Note: As a side note, the chapter title is named after the song of the same name by Coldplay. It's pretty good- you should go check it out, and I like to think that it describes the first half reasonably well.


	15. How We Operate

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

Alright, so I'm going to be honest: I only started watching Grey's Anatomy on the fourth season. BUT in my defense, I have been watching previous episodes and whatnot on You tube. So, to get to the point, I apologize for any discrepancies between characters and such in this chapter and the next… if I make any- which I probably will- alas!

Feedback is always appreciated…and I have to say I've been brought to my knees in what you guys think of my story in the way of encouragement and whatnot so thanks for sticking with me thus far. Words cannot- seriously, I mean _cannot_- convey my appreciation.

Again, some stuff in this chapter is sorta on the upper edge of the 'T' rating, so all ye be warned. xD

Another song reference, for the win! It's called 'How We Operate' by Gomez. I'm pretty sure they've had this song on GA before on the episode where they put in Denny's heart, so yeah...ahem, anyways, I'll leave you to the story.

……………………………

You know that saying 'taking the wind out of the sails'?

Yeah, that's me right about now. Except instead of stopping in an ocean or a body of cool water, I'm stuck in the hot doldrums of hunger, desire and _want. _And have been ever since Callie's godforsaken phone rang. And ever since she answered with the 'Uh…hi Mom', I almost wanted to start laughing. I'm not sure that Mrs. Torres would be so casual if she knew what her daughter was doing- or was _planning _to do- mere seconds before the phone rang. I decide to have a little fun. I feel her eyes on me still when I sit up, facing away from her. My hands come re-hook the back of my bra and I can hear her frustrated growl before a slight period of silence. "No, nothing's wrong mom you just caught me at …a…bad…time..." she trails off as I begin to walk closer, with just that _special _sway. With no preemptive comment, I step forward ad kiss her, one of those that involves more teeth and tongue than any refinement.

But still, I know what I'm doing….sort of. Callie doesn't respond for a moment- understandably, I like to think- and I hear from her phone's earpiece _"Callie? Are you still there?" _Wearing the biggest shit-eating grin in the world, I back off with a wink and a more than suggestive licking of my lips. After, I turn away, walking towards the kitchen for something to drink. I hear Callie's stuttering response from behind me and, if possible, that makes the smile bigger on my face. I hear something about an emergency, how she has to go and then the sound of a phone snapping shut. She grabs my wrist and spins me around, old-school Western movie style. What's written all over her face is probably scripted all over mine, and we kiss our way back to the bed, pulling at straps and lacy bits of clothing without any of the previous, teasing finesse from before.

Mmhhmm…it's good to be back.

……………………………

They say you never forget your first.

I remember the very first time I did my first heart-related surgery. For the most part, I was helping harvest the grafts from the internal thoracic arteries and once that was done, I stepped back. But as the patient was taken off of bypass, my attending slowly turned his head and snapped, "Hahn!" He nodded his head towards the heart. "Massage the heart- _gently, _mind you. If you screw this up, then your ass won't see the interior of an OR for three months." It sounded like a prison sentence- the threat, I mean of course. I already knew, even at that stage, that the OR was going to be one of my happy zones. If science was my temple, and cold hard facts the pillars, then, at that stage, the OR would be the altar.

I walked forward and did as he ordered. I knew that as soon as I put my hands on that wonderfully solid mass of beating cardiac muscle, valves and arteries that keeps us alive, I knew I was done for. That this, _this, _the experience of handling so precious an organ was my calling. I'll never forget the sensation of the muscular fibers under my hand as my fingers closed around the tissue and started to massage the heart in an action that I can only describe as _sensual. _

Alright fine, call me a weird nut, but…there's nothing quite like that feeling.

And so, when I return to work after my 'sick leave', it seems only fitting that I should start my return to work the same way: with a coronary artery bypass graft operation. Yang had been basically getting her glutton's fill of all the cardio surgeries that had been coming in, but dammit, this one was _mine. _Placing my hands on the heart again, I was transported back to my first and as I massage the heart and see it begin to pump, with the blood flickering through the grafts like bullet trains and busy commuters, I get that same feeling. I fill with satisfaction and look at Yang. "Close him up," I say. She minces no words and gets to work, wiring the sternum together and sewing the chest incision. Inevitably, my eyes are drawn to the observation deck, and there's Callie, smiling shyly with that ridiculous grin. I'm tempted to smile back, tear off my mask and run up the stairs to the deck, but I don't. I settle with pouring every memory- every slow, hot, _loud, __begging_ memory of this morning and afternoon into my eyes and combine it with something as innocuous as a simple nod. From her sudden flush, I think she gets it. I turn back to the patient and monitor Yang's work- which, I have to admit, is okay…alright fine, it's damn _good. _But, instead of really thinking about post-op treatment for the patient, I'm thinking about Callie, and how the workplace and her got so completely intertwined. Medicine and love, eh?

In fact I- hold on, wait. I'm pretty sure I _did _just think that, right? _Love…_That admission makes me blink a few times as I watch Yang start sewing the skin together. The Scientist in me squirms uncomfortably within at this admission, but…I think I'm starting to accept it. The days of relying solely on science are over at this point, and that scares me. I have no idea what I'm doing. After all, it comes with new territory, right? Well then…don't they say you never forget your first? I look up at the deck and she's still there. My first, indeed.

So… medicine and love. An interesting combination- and yet this hospital can still run while combining those two oh-so-volatile things. But then again….

It's how we operate.

……………………………

Callie's strong. Spiritually, to pick herself up after her husband, the man who promised to love and cherish her until death do them part- well, cheated on her with his best friend….well, I have to say I probably wouldn't be able to do that- AND be able to forgive him and let him go? Impressive.

And…she also has physical strength- to set all those bones all damn day…

How do I know this, you may ask? Well, try getting a deep tissue massage from her, and then we'll talk.

Muscle knots the size of Alaska are in my shoulders and neck, and I'm laying on the bed with Callie straddling my hips with her thumbs firmly kneading the hell out of said knots. She hits a particularly tight one and I hiss and bury my face into the pillow. Chuckling, she moves her hands down to the small of my back. She doesn't press as hard, and I feel myself beginning to actually enjoy it. Then again, lying on your bed with a fantastically amazing woman straddling your hips while you're basically naked from the waist up tends to make one enjoy the circumstances most certainly. As if reading my thoughts, I feel her shift forward and start to kiss my neck and shoulders, seeming to remember where every single muscle knot was that she teased out. I swear….I pretty much melt right there. I turn my head a little so I can see her out of the corner of my eye. "You see? This? This is way better than the deep tissue massage," I say with a smile. I feel her warm puffs of breath as she exhales in another chuckle, still kissing her way down my spine- which feels incredible. Soon enough her hands slip to my sides and, slowly tracing designs in my skin with her nails, makes her way to my stomach. I think I know what she's going to do so I lift myself a little so her hands can slide under my body and unbutton my jeans. She makes an approving sound, still kissing my back, making her way to the hollow behind my ear.

Her hands slowly follow the denim around my hips and its delicious torture. I lift my hips a little more and she pulls the pants down, running her hands down my legs as she goes. At this point, I can't stand being passive anymore. I start to turn, but she stops me, squeezing her legs around my body, rendering me quite incapable of movement. She makes a disapproving sound and lightly swats my backside when I try to turn over again. I sigh. "See now _this? _Just isn't fair." I grumble into the pillow. Not being able to touch her? Maddening- trust me. She simply laughs again and repeats what she did with the jeans, lightly scraping her nails all around the waistband and all parts of the hem of my panties. Except this time, she strokes and tickles that crease between my legs and my butt and it drives me crazy- insane, actually, making me sink my own nails into the sheets. I know she can feel the heat from my very core of my being, and she doesn't let up- at all. I hear her breathing get a little deeper and faster as she reaches my neck again- after taking a detour around my shoulders- and kisses me. I hear her panting and her groan of desire as I open my mouth, and I know I can't take much more of this ridiculous teasing. I decide to take drastic measures. I bend my knees slowly, hoping she doesn't notice the movement. Then, taking a page out of her own book, I rock my body, using my bent knee as a stable push off point, so that she's beneath me on her back. I reverse my momentum and bring my arm out and across, so that my body is draped over hers and our legs are tangled, effectively trapping her beneath me. She blinks a few times and pouts. "Not fair," she murmurs against my lips as I bend down for another kiss. I don't respond and our kiss is momentarily broken when I pull her shirt up and over her head. She's wearing thin, cotton sweatpants with the tie knotted three times. She always did this- she said that it was habit and that she didn't like excess slack of the ties. I thought this was comical at the time, and still do.

I trace the curves and shape of her body with my hands, liking the way the light ivory of my skin contrasts with her own caramel shade. Taking another page of her book, I part her thighs with my own leg and grind down a little, making her body arch against my mouth as I make my way down between her breasts, lightly tracing and kissing her heart surgery scar from her aortic dissection procedure. A memory comes up, of the first time we were together after said surgery. She was so self-conscious about it- the scar, that is, and started to cry when I trailed a nail over the raised tissue, asking if it hurt. A little thrown off kilter by her reaction, I held her face in my hands.

"_Callie, look at me." She dragged her melting chocolate brown eyes to mine, and I smile reassuringly at her. "There's not a single scar in the world, no matter where, that'd make you any less beautiful, okay?" I wait in silence as she sniffled through a teary smile and kissed me. "Thank you," she whispered, trailing her hands through my hair. I grin against her soft skin and answer back, "No problem…." _

The memory makes me smile again and as I lick and nibble my way down to her waist, I feel Callie's eyes on me. Still wearing that smirk I locked eyes with her. I agonizingly and meticulously begin to pick apart the knot on her pants. And when I got the first two knots untied, I caught the end of the now loosened bow between my front teeth and with now a mischievous glint to my eyes, I pulled the knot wholly and completely apart. She looks at me hungrily the entire time, and I have to say I think I most definitely enjoy the effect I have on her- if the look wasn't enough, then the heat radiating from her center certainly was. She brings my face back up and as our lips firmly locked, my hands are already pushing down the waistband of her pants and she wiggles out of them, the motion of her hips under my body making me pull off her mouth and gasp for air.

God, if I don't have this woman now, then I seriously will cut my carotid artery with a scalpel.

And I'll be fuckin-goddamned.

The sounds of Beethoven's Fifth symphony fill the room and I frown and squeeze my eyes shut. The dark classical piece seriously couldn't be more fitting. "Don't tell me…" I snarl with frustration. She bites her lip and looks towards her phone. "That's my dad's ringer…" she says, looking from her phone to my face. "I have to answer," she adds with a pleading look. I hang my head and roll off of her and say "You have one minute. And then, if you don't make it under a minute, I'm going to shower and try and get out of my head the fact that your parents seem to have this amazing ability to call _right when things start to get really, __really__, __**really**__**, **_good," I answer, my voice going smoky and rough at he end just to give her an idea of what she's missing. She gives me a quick kiss and laughs, "I love how you so understand." I roll my eyes in mock exasperation- well, okay, not perhaps _mock_per se, but she still winks at me and answers her phone "Hi daddy." There silence and I'm assuming that they're making all the normal pleasantries. But I can't concentrate on that now- all I can see is the clock, ticking down the seconds. Because if I look at her, then I'll be too tempted to take her phone away, snap into the mouthpiece, "She'll call you back," and then slam her against the wall, finishing what we had started and were progressing nicely through until that damn phone started to ring. I'm not sure I've ever hated a musical piece with such frustration as Beethoven's Fifth right about now. I glance back at her and she frowns suddenly, the laughter gone from her voice. Quarter of a minute gone.

"Wait so you're coming _here_?" She asks in disbelief. "What? No I'm not-I'm just….surprised is all," she continues. Ten more seconds pass. "No mom didn't tell me- she…no well, she called at a bad time. So I guess she didn't get a chance to- no, no, I don't mind…" she adds, trailing off.

_Well, shit sister, I sure as hell do because looking at you isn't nearly _half_ of what I want to do to you_, I think as I tap my wrist, mouthing that there was thirty seconds left. She gives me a pleading look and asks for one more minute. Rolling my eyes again, I snort and raise an eyebrow. I meaningfully look towards the bathroom, where surely a cold shower would make my overactive hormones shut the hell up. "Uh, yeah that sounds good, I have to go now," she blurts into the phone. I look up at her and prop myself up with a smirk. There we go. Now…Callie Torres…please just hurry up.

"Just call me when your flight gets in. I have to go. Tell mom I love her Ihavetogonowbyebye." She finishes hurriedly, jamming the last part of her sentence into one word. She tosses the phone onto a nearby seat and literally- I kid you not- jumps into the bed, attacking my lips fiercely. "You know you had about fifteen seconds left, right?" I asked raggedly when we break for air. She's too busy kissing her way down my clavicle and then my pulse point to respond. "Well," she finally retorts after almost giving me a hickey, "I wanted to be a little early, is all," she mutters, nipping my neck. "Are you _complaining_?" she asks, punctuating her question with that- Jesus Christ- _that_ _thing _she does with her knee. It makes me reply in a lust frayed voice

"Not in the slightest."

……………………………

"My mom and dad are coming to Seattle tomorrow," Callie tells me after waking me up with a poke in my side and a kiss. I open my eyes and raise my eyebrow at her expression. There's that slight frown that tells me that she's worried, and she's pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, which looks amazingly adorable on her sleep tousled features. I smile encouragingly at her and nod. "And…? Something I'm missing?" I ask. That worried face doesn't go away, and then suddenly it clicks. Awhile ago Callie had told me her dad was strict Roman-Catholic. At the time, I had just treated that the same way I treated other factual information about her parents, just like the way I treated the fact that her mom was Spanish. But….seeing the change in Callie's…lifestyle, if you will, will make those simple words have more impact. "I'm guessing you didn't tell them," I say softly, propping myself on one elbow and looking over her face carefully. I didn't mean to put any accusation in my tone, but apparently she sees some, for she breaks eye contact with me and drops her gaze to the seemingly fascinating wrinkles and folds of the sheets.

Somewhere, deep down, I believe I understand where she's coming from. I'm guessing she had a substantially better relationship with her parents than I did, and doesn't want to freak them out. The only problem that keeps coming back to me is that she has said on multiple occasions that she's serious about this and such. I can still picture her in my mind down to the last detail, of when she told me- after the Tapley social, the moonlight giving her a soft radiance, only made heartbreaking by what she had to say and the doubts she had. I suppose telling my mom wasn't such a big deal- considering the wonderful yellow brick road my childhood and memories with her had been. So, this, I think, I can understand.

Callie takes my moment of thinking as silent anger- which its _not_- and starts to slide out of bed, eyes still downcast. I snag her wrist and lightly squeeze it until she looks up at me. "It's alright," I say, mustering up a smile. "We can go through this." Actually, I'm not the most reassured about this, and a small kernel of worry has been planted in my head. But, I have to be strong. For her. For both of us.

She looks at me and then leans forward, kissing me lightly on the lips and tipping her forehead against mine. "I'm not sure what I'd do without you," she murmurs. I don't say anything but go for another kiss, then another, and then another….

When we do finally emerge from the bedroom, we have to go and shower because, sadly enough, we're both on-call. We left a comfortable amount of time for us to shower in case we got…distracted…and it turns out to be a wise investment, seeing as how we're both on time-barely, yes, but on time none the less. I head off to do a PCI and she goes to put a few pins in a shattered femur and basically reconstruct an ankle, both from a car accident. I wait for her in the cafeteria, but she sends me a text that she has to go and pick up her parents from the airport.

And that's when it begins. Tension begins to gnaw at me, just like that knot I had that tightened in my gut before Callie told me she'd slept with Mark. I try to pass this off as hunger, but when I eat my salad, I only take a few bites and push it around on the plate. Abandoning the effort all together, I go and decide to do charting in my office. Treatment options and medications are all a blur as my mind goes on auto-pilot. I reassure myself that it's no big deal, that Callie will have it all figured out, and that it's most definitely _not _a big deal that she hasn't told them yet.

.

.

Even though it's been a few months.

.

.

The unease doesn't go away.


	16. Look At Her Face

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

"Look At Her Face" –The Coral Sea

Read and review and tell me what you think!

Oh and microsoft word now hates me or something, because it started deleting random parts of my story. So if there's any inconsistency, tell me and I'll go back and fix it.

Thanks for your patience!

……………………………….

Meeting parents isn't a new thing for me. I've danced and sang to that tune more than once in the past. And more than once, I would always see their expression in their eyes as they looked from me to their son, as if asking _why_. Indeed, I had asked myself that question a few times after stiff conversation bursts at the dinner table. However awkward some of those past memories could be, nothing, I mean nothing could quite prepare me for having dinner with Callie's parents. The snarling tangle of unease in my stomach only gets more twisted as we both come home from work and set about making dinner.  
We agreed to tell them later about us. While I was cooking the roast, she diced vegetables and made the salad while telling me a quick overview of what to expect.

Her father's named Gavril, the Greek version of Gabriel. I smiled at this- it seemed so fitting that his name should mean none other than 'Strong man of God.' He was coming to Seattle for an architectural consult- he was known far and wide for his knowledge and experience. As mentioned before, he was strict Roman-Catholic, and Callie hypothesized that if there was one parent that would have trouble accepting this, it would be him. I glance over at her. "Your father named you, didn't he?" I ask. She stops cutting up a tomato and looks at me shyly and nods.  
Her mother's name is Isadora, and came from a wealthy family with some deep monetary roots. This, again, made me smile, seeing as how her name basically means 'gift.' I cut another quick glance Callie's way and think _Gift_, without a doubt. Her mother came from Spain when she was young and fresh out of med school as a scrub nurse and being a clinician in neuro. She met Callie's dad when her dad was on his way for a consult and they literally crashed into each other on their way out from a coffee shop, slopping their respective drinks all over each other's clothes. Callie's mom was late for a cerebral aneurysm procedure and she shouted at him angrily to 'get the hell out of my way!' He barked back at her in Greek and they both went their separate ways, only to bump into each other- literally, once more- at the same exact coffee shop the next week. Grudgingly, numbers were exchanged, and they were married two years later.

I laugh at her story and she gave me an embarrassed smile. "It's true, you know," she said, adding the last touches on the salad and coming up behind me to rest her chin on my shoulder. I pushed the roast back into the oven and turn my head, kissing her cheek before reaching out for my glass of wine. "I'm guessing you take after your mom the most," I say after taking a sip. She nods sheepishly. "But I have my dad's tenacity, or so they tell me," she whispers in my ear, her hand snaking around my waist to pull me in for a kiss. Hmm. Tenacity, indeed. The urge to feel the silkiness of her hair between my fingers is maddening, but I don't want to mess up her loose curls. I hurriedly set my wineglass down on the counter behind me and set my hands around her waist, my fingers tightening on her skin when she opens her mouth and deepens the kiss. Despite my best efforts…my hands wander. They slide up, and when Callie pulls us a little closer, our clothes ruffle and get in the way, seeming more like an impediment instead of a social necessity. I break the kiss and she leans her head back as I make my way from her jaw line to her neck.

God, this is tempting. Very, very tempting.

The doorbell rings.

We share a look and its silent, both the fires in our eyes burning as an unsatisfied, intense ache somewhere else. We burst out in laughter, just like we always used to, and still do, at the circumstances. With a sigh, we disentangle ourselves from each other and she's still chuckling when she opens the door and hugs her parents. I wait in the kitchen and stay behind as she makes small talk for a little bit and then brings them in. Callie's dad is broad at the shoulder but he moves with a strange, loping grace. His dark eyes flick around the kitchen, taking in the pot rack on the wall and the baker's table off to the side. He gives a small nod, as if it meets his satisfaction. I step forward and take a small breath.

"Hello, Mr. Torres, I'm Erica Hahn, Callie's roommate," I say, holding out my hand. He takes it in his rough one and a small smile cracks his face.

"I heard some things about you, Dr. Hahn. But please, just Gavril will be fine."

"Erica will be fine as well. And I hope you've heard good things," I answer, cutting a glance Callie's way, which she gives a small apologetic shrug at me with her eyes smiling. I turn to her mom, and as Callie makes the introductions, I can immediately see where the resemblance comes from. The same lips, the delicately arching brow and the slightly curled waves of her dark hair seem like a familiar page out of a favorite book. "Merely Isadora, please," she says, the Latin roots coming across in her accent. She extends her hand. I clasp it and smile and nod. "Nice to meet you. But just Erica," I reply.

Callie and I move behind the counter to pour her parents a glass of wine. We brush a little, and I know I probably shouldn't look at her but I can't help it. I turn away to check on the dinner when Callie and I exchange a smile. When I look across, there it is. A faint glimmer of something in her mother's eyes. Shit. She knows. The thought makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I love control. Control is amazing. And I feel like I've just lost it with that simple smile I traded with Callie.

Dinner comes and goes without a hitch, and the recipe I looked up last night on the computer definitely worked well. Callie takes her dad around the house and Isadora offered to help clean up. We're standing next to each other and she dries a plate as I hand one to her. "How long?" she asks quietly. My hands almost slip on the knife I'm cleaning and I silently berate myself thoroughly. "I'm sorry?" I ask. At this point I'm hoping that the glimmer in her eyes wasn't real, and just a figment of my imagination. But I know it's not, even before the words come out of her mouth. "How long have you been with my daughter?" she asks, still in that soft voice. I freeze, and then slowly turn off the water, so that it's silent in the house. I finally say something because my body is screaming for me to do so but when I speak; it's not to answer her question. "It's not like what you think," I said, the stark silence enveloping my words in a cocoon of admission.

"Then what is it?" She responds. I finally drag my eyes to hers. They're unlike Callie's smooth chocolate brown- they're a sharp dark green and I feel like they're dissecting me slowly. Not to be intimidated, I train my patented Dr. Hahn gaze on her and chew my lip a little before answering. "We used to be only best friends, and it's not like I have a habit of falling for women," I begin, going back to washing the dishes. I explain about the elevator, then about Cement Boy day. Her parents knew about the aortic dissection incident, but I'm not sure they know how horrified I was that the one individual in the world who got ME as a person, and more than a surgeon, almost died on the table that day. How horrified I was when I was faced with the prospect of being alone again, a state that didn't bother me before but now would tear me to pieces. I like to think, though, that while I don't tell her this, that I only tell her about repairing Callie's punctured aorta in technical terms she'll get, Isadora understands. When I finish my narrative, there's still that thick silence, but it's not as bad as before. "When Callie called me after her divorce, I've never…ever heard someone sound so toneless, especially not my daughter, and I work with neurologists," she says finally, wiping dry a wineglass. The half-hearted attempt at humor makes me chuckle a little and I glance over at her. "And now…she's happy- actually, really happy." She finishes and slides it into the rack above the counter, then fixes me with her gaze. "I….I'm not sure I'll ever understand your lifestyle…but…you make my daughter happy, Erica. You put a smile on her face, as a best friend or…something else. You taught her to pull herself back up. And for that I thank you." She hugs me awkwardly, and I return it just as awkwardly. And that right there is all I need to see and know that she and I will get along fine. We don't dish out signs of affection like seafood at a buffet table, but when it's there….it's **there**. We pull apart a little stiffly and we both have that faint smile on our faces. Yeah, we've both got Scientists in us, and we know how it is.

There's the scraping of the door, and Callie leads her dad back into the house from the back yard. She's laughing at something her dad has said but it fades a little when she senses the less-than-light feeling in the kitchen. Isadora leans off of the counter and makes all the farewell pleasantries. Hugs and handshakes are exchanged, and once more Isadora and I share that secret look. She knows, but she's okay with it- thankfully.

I can only hope her husband is as understanding. Strong man of God, indeed.

……………………………….

_ "Uh God…uh CCCAAAALLLLIIIIEEEEEE!!" _

You know when you scream your release, and it's a really good one? As in, the type that makes you almost fall into the void of nothingness while every part of your body is still tingling from the rush of adrenaline and hormones, courtesy of that oh-so-handy pleasure center in your brain (pun unintended)?

Yeah, I'm still coming down from _that_ and am as weak as a kitten when Callie slides back up next to me with a grin on her face. She tenderly brushes my hair out of my eyes and the feeling, combined with my release, makes me shiver and open my eyes. We stare at each other for a minute and then she kisses me softly and I can taste myself on her tongue. It's an odd sensation.

"Thank you," she says quietly. I raise my eyebrows and pull up a faint smile. "I think I should be thanking _you_," I answer. "For my parents I mean…I…I know that it's pretty awkward, and-and strange, and I want to say I'm sorr-" she responds but I interrupt her with a finger on her lips. "It's fine, don't worry about it." I shakily get to my feet and I feel her eyes on me. I turn and hold out my hand. "Coming with?" I ask. She smiles in response and, taking my hand, we both make our way to the shower. I pick up the bottle of Callie's shampoo and inhale, closing my eyes. I think I'm officially addicted to that scent as the cherry-vanilla aroma flows into my nose and brain like a sweet narcotic. Pouring out a little into my hands, I wash her scalp, feeling the wet slickness of her hair slip through my hands. It's therapeutic, I swear. "Your mom knows," I blurted. She gets rigid under my hands and I drop them to her shoulders, rubbing my hands over her skin and using my thumbs like she did when she gave me the deep tissue massage. She knows now the reason for the atmosphere in the kitchen when she came in. "And?" she whispered. God, she's terrified. That knot of unease only tightens but I try to disregard it, leaning my head against her neck and shoulders. "I believe she's okay with it. It's only your dad that we need to win over," I answer, just as softly. She turns around and rests her head on my chest. The way she lets out a quiet shuddering sob doesn't increase my confidence level- at all. Instead of remarking on it, I tighten my arms in a hug and step under the spray with her, letting the warm suds flicker around our feet and then fade into the drain.

I hold her tightly, because she's already done it for me. I hold her tightly because she holds me as well. If anything happens with her father, then I know she could possibly push me away. That thought makes _me _want to sob, but I don't let it, cramming that dark possibility away from sight in my mind. The fact that I'm worrying about this situation this badly makes me a bit cold, and I don't like it. Interesting. A few days ago, I was begging to be turned back to ice, to be turned back into cutting my emotional side down to a minimal- to get back my edge, as it were. Now? It's the opposite. I turn my head up to the warm spray and close my eyes, willing it to wash and melt away the frost that's forming. It doesn't.

My disquiet eats away at me.

I wake up to find that Callie's reached for my hand, even when she was asleep. Our fingers are threaded together on the bed and I'm not sure how long I stare at them before I glance at the clock and realize that I have to be at work soon. I pull myself out of the warm sheets and, on impulse, lean over and kiss Callie's forehead. She murmurs something in her sleep and smiles. I walk away to get ready for work.

……………………………….

I'm paged to the ER for a consult, and as I write down a prescription I hear my name. "Erica!" I turn and it's Callie. I frowned. "I thought you weren't on call today," I say, but she grabs my arm and pulls me over to a partitioned bed. She jerks aside the curtain and I suck in my breath. Her father is laying there, an IV in his arm and Isadora looking furious. "I can't understand why you wouldn't tell us about this, Gavril! You _know _I'm a nurse for Chrissakes!" she snapped, her accent getting stronger with her ire. She nods at me and I nod back in greeting. After I have some tests done and do an ultrasound on his legs to check for clots when he complains of chest pain, I make a diagnosis for pulmonary clots and start him on heparin. After I'm done writing in his chart and clip it back on the bed, there's a feeling of tension in the air. Gavril looks at Callie and I, and finally his wife. He's curious. "What is it? Something else wrong?" He asked, his voice getting a little darker. Callie opens her mouth then closes it, dropping her eyes. I shake my head. "Just tell me if there's anything- _anything _that feels uncomfortable, then page me. I'll be back to check on you later." I turn and walk away, not wanting to deal with the emotions inside of me. _I told you I was serious about this. About us. _Her words haunt me like the faint imprint of her perfume when she passes a corner and I know I need to stop this. I feel Isadora's eyes burning into my back, and then Callie's saying something and I hear her shoes on the linoleum floor as she catches up. My hands are still in my pockets and I don't look at her. We round the corner and she pulls me into an on-call room. I still don't look at her. I'm worried that if I do, then I'll see something that I don't want to. "Erica!" she says my name the same way she did on Cement Boy day- demanding my attention. I look up at her and her eyes are pleading. "Please….I just…I just need more time," she whispers, her voice cracking. She's holding my arms so tightly that it hurts but I don't let on. I don't do anything really- I just stare at her eyes, wanting- no, _needing _to have faith. But having faith was something I never was good at. In about two weeks, her mom and dad are going to leave, and go back to South Florida. And if Callie delays in telling them, a realm of unpleasant thoughts are going to be opened and I'm not sure I want to venture within. Because if I do, that dark, sucking abyss is going to take me within it's velvety, toxic dark depths, and chew me up, spitting me back out minus a heart. I don't want to take a step in there, so I formulate something to say and open my mouth.

There's a buzz against my hip and I drop my gaze from her eyes and to my pager. It's a 911 trauma- a big one. A five car pile-up, to be specific. I raise my eyes back to her face, closing my mouth and not saying anything. Something very similar to defeat washes over her face. I raise my hand and caress her face, my fingertips grazing her jaw, leaning forward for a kiss. I muster up my fortitude and try to shove that knot of tension to the back of my mentality. "I'll wait," I say quietly. She starts to cry and I kiss away a few of her tears. "I have to go," I whisper against her cheek. She doesn't say anything when I leave the on-call room.

……………………………….

I have to admit, I kind of feel bad for being less than supportive. A week has passed since her father came in, and she still hasn't said anything. Granted, the hospital has been incredibly busy, to the point where we both collapse into bed as mindless zombies and wake up the same way. We haven't talked a lot, and so I decide to make it up. I never was good at talking anyways- I'm an action oriented person.

The next morning I wake up and make my way down stairs to make waffles- Callie's favorite. I throw strawberries, bananas, mango cubes and diced kiwi into a bowl and drizzle a little honey on top as a side dish. I set out a pitcher of OJ on the table and I turn away, checking the waffles to see if they're done when blackness envelopes my sight. The tickling sweep of a rose brushes my nose and my lips and I smile against the sensation. It continues, lightly tracing a path down around my jaw and then along my neck, down over my clavicle and still lower. I hear her quiet breathing and I know she's close. I slide my hands up her arms until I reach her face and blindly kiss her. The rose is quickly forgotten and she moves her hand from my eyes in favor of moving them through my hair. She moves me against the table and the heat I feel against my back duly reminds me that I have to check those damn waffles, but I don't care at this point. But what I _do _care about however, is Callie and also the fact that she's pulling off my shirt. We haven't done anything like _that _since the night of the shower, and apparently we're both feeling the need to make up for lost time. There's no gentle teasing or anything- it's as if we're both driven by desperation to say sorry with our bodies.

The tank top she was wearing falls on the floor in a maroon colored spill, and the Johns Hopkins University shirt I slept in quickly joins it. We spin, and now she's the one against the table. A sporadic sound in the back ground makes me dazedly wonder what it is, but I disregard it as I pull off her shorts in one motion. I feel her groan of approval against my skin as she kisses her way down my throat, her hands busy at my back to unfasten my bra. Her hands are shaking so bad that she can't get the clasp undone and this strikes me as funny; I laugh breathlessly. A foreign smell and sound try to infiltrate my lust-fogged brain, but it's lost in the sea of my senses as I bury my nose in her hair and she moans in response to my tongue and teeth against her ear. She wraps her legs around my waist and I drop my hands from her hair, gently scoring her back with my nails. I bring my hands around and start to smooth them down her belly, nudging her back down onto the cool tabletop. "Oh God, Erica….!" she gasps against my lips, and I know she wants this as badly as I do.

But….

The door slams open and that's something I can't ignore.

"CALLIOPE IPHEGENIA TORRES!"

_Jesus. Mary. Joseph_. This cannot be happening. Horrified, we both look at the door way of the kitchen and her dad, Gavril, is standing there, holding a bag of bagels. That's quite the image we make: me about to give Callie her first climax of the day, her legs wrapped around my waist and we're both half undressed. I realize that he probably was banging on the door, and that foreign smell I failed to pay attention earlier was the smoke from the burning waffles. He probably was bringing breakfast for us on our day off and panicked when he heard the alarm. The bag falls listlessly from his hands, and he blindly stumbled out the door. I dimly realize he's saying the Lord's Prayer. Swearing violently, Callie worms her way out from under me and puts on just enough clothes to appear decent and runs out after him. I finally come to my senses enough to shut off the waffle iron and I slowly pick up my own clothes in a daze. Needlessly to say, this wasn't supposed to happen. I pull on my shirt and tug the hem down.

And that's when I heard it.

The crunching symphony of breaking Safety Glass, bending metal and snapping plastic, harmonized by the high keen torn from Callie's throat like a bat out of hell.

I stand stock still, eyes wide.

The door's still open, and that's when I run.


	17. Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

Not much to say, except the usual: I'd love some feedback good or bad. Just if it's bad, try and keep it constructive so I can improve.

Oh, and I need a beta reader- my earlier go-to-gal from the last few chapters had to stop for some personal reasons and time issues. Interested? Send me a message! It'll be most definitely appreciated.

……………………………….

Callie couldn't think about what had just happened. All she could think about was a memory when she was a little girl, only about five years old.

_She'd just gotten her first bike with training wheels and excitedly she pedaled down the driveway, towards the street. The rushing of blood and wind in her ears made her laugh as she approached the street faster and faster. But then she heard her father's voice above it, cutting through the blood pounding in her ears. "CALLIE!" And then quite suddenly, she felt two strong hands yank her from out of the seat. Kicking the air futilely and a steady stream of protests and such came from her mouth, but was quickly silenced by the look in her father's eyes. He then looked away from her, over her shoulder at the street, where a pick-up truck just _barely_ missed hitting the bike. Callie looked back at her dad, then at the ground. "Cal," he began, his fingers tightening on her arms as he bent his knees to be on her level. "Look at me." Callie did as she was told and was startled to see the tell-tale sheen of tears in his eyes. Papa never _ever_ cried, even when Mom had to dig out a few splinters from beneath his finger nails once, when he was building a shed in the backyard. "When you cross the street, always, __always__ look both ways, Calliope. __**Always. **__Do you hear me?" he said finally, the fear of seeing Callie get hit by a car fading a little. She nodded slowly. Whenever he used 'Calliope', he seriously wasn't kidding around. He hugged her tightly, and Callie nuzzled her head into the reassuring warmth of his neck. "I'm still here, Daddy," she said, and she felt the vibrations of his shaky laugh and heard him say, "Yeah Cal, you still are."_

_Look both ways. _

Callie wasn't sure what hurt more: the reality that the memory kept replaying in her head like a busted record, or the fact that her father was in such duress from almost seeing his daughter having sex on the kitchen counter that he forgot to _look both ways. _It seemed such a macabre turn of events that a pick up truck, just like the one that almost hit Callie on her bike those years ago, would hit her father. After that, she couldn't think. She reacted. "DADDY!" she screamed, and sprinted to her father. The driver dazedly got out and shouted something at Callie, but was promptly ignored. Safety glass was spread around her father like a shroud, and it crunched loudly underfoot as she crouched beside him. When she spoke now, it was a terrified whisper, "Daddy..? It's going to be okay- it's…"He blinked rapidly and looked around as if in a fog. He was still saying the Lord's Prayer in a broken whisper.

_Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven…_

Pain, agonizing pain firmly gripped the right half of his body where the truck had impacted and dipped it into a vat of fire. He began to cough as he wheezed for breath, and blood promptly came up. He looked up at his daughter through shifting, unfocused eyes, and saw something he didn't want to: a perversion of his sweet Callie. He closed his eyes, and that's when he heard _her. _Dimly, but he heard her none the less. She told his daughter to go into the house to call 911 and saw her gently pry Callie away. _She's taking my daughter away…again… _he struggled to get up, but Erica pushed him back down. "I'm going to need you to relax, please, Mr. Torres," he heard mutedly. His eyes rolled back into his head and when Erica started shouting at the EMTs a few minutes later to hurry and save his life, he didn't hear it.

_Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us…_

When she took his hand to insert his IV, he futilely tried to push her hands away, those hands that had _touched his daughter_. Then he was being lifted up, and on an ambulance. Erica disappeared and then Callie was there, taking his hand, tears in her eyes. "Daddy…I'm sorry I never- I'm sorry," she whispered again and again, getting more broken up each time. Gavril didn't respond- at least not to her. He saw a light and knew instinctively that he should go towards it. He tightened his grip on consciousness, to finish his Pater Noster for both his and Callie's sake.

_Save us from the time of trial, and deliver us from evil. _

The light was beckoning and becoming increasingly attractive, and Gavril saw the hazy outline of his mother beckoning towards him. He didn't see his father, which was just as well- he left Gavril and his mother when Gavril was six by joining the army and never looked back. His mother was Spanish but spoke Greek, same as his wife, and when he saw her, it automatically made him think of waking up on Christmas morning to the smell of freshly made _arroz con leche_, a sort of rice pudding, or, if he'd been a god boy that year, _turrón_, a special type of nougat. That special, delicate honey aroma that wafted through their small house would never fail to get him out of bed. It was now with these memories that made him step forward into the light, the last words of the Prayer on his lips.

_For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever. Amen. _

He stepped forward, and kneeled, praying for forgiveness, himself and his daughter's.

……………………………….

Callie repeating that she was sorry over and over to her father cut Erica a little more deeply than she cared to admit, but she had no time to meditate on this. The shrill cry of the monitor made her snap into action, attaching the defibrillator patches on his chest. Seizing the paddles, she called clear and the EMTs retracted their hands, but Callie didn't. "Callie! Let him go!" Erica snapped her nerves on a razor's edge. Their eyes met. "I'll bring him back. But first you need to let him go," she said, a little softer this time. Callie nodded slowly and let her father's hand drop to the side. "Clear!" the heart surgeon called again and pressed the buttons on the paddles. His body shook from the charge, but nothing. _C'mon, fight for this! You have to! _Erica thought savagely as she charged the paddles once more. He responded on the second try and his signs went back to as normal as they could get, but his blood pressure was dangerously low.

They were at the hospital, and Erica jumped out, along with the EMTs and they started rattling off the conditions. Bailey raised her eyebrows at Erica's being there but said nothing. But when Callie started to follow as well, Bailey knew she had to block her. It would be a major break in policy- Callie was a doctor, true, but in this she was now the loved one/ visitor, and thus couldn't operate. "What?! I-NO. Jesus Christ Bailey! He's my dad- I have to go with him!" she shouted, struggling to get past the Chief Resident's uncompromising grip. Erica looked back at Callie and grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly. "I'll bring him back," she said firmly, not looking away from Callie's eyes. "I'll bring him back," she repeated, the cold iron in her voice reaffirming Callie's belief in her abilities. All too soon, though, she let go and followed the EMTs inside the ER.

Erica didn't waste any time, taking a spare set of royal dark blue scrubs that signified her status as an Attending and changing into them. She took control of the situation, and the Scientist inside of her took over as well. They were on the elevator up to the emergency OR when Gavril woke back up, slurring through the thick medication and sedation, "You _touched _her…!" Looks were exchanged in the cramped elevator, but nothing was said. And frankly, Erica couldn't care less. To her mind now, the scene in the kitchen was like looking at a photo through a frosted piece of glass- it was distant, and after all, out of sight, out of mind. To her mind now, Gavril Torres was just another patient, another man that needed saving. They wheeled him into the OR and she prepared herself, tying on her surgical gown and cap. Before she walked into the scrub room, she asked one of the nurses to page Yang. True enough, she didn't necessarily like the overbearing Resident, but she was the best due to her experience before, and for that Erica had to give a certain grudging respect to. As she looked in from the window, washing her hands, she realized something: they'd have to give him protamine sulfate to counteract the heparin. No wonder his blood pressure had been so low- he was on blood thinners, for God's sake! She ordered it as soon as she stepped back into the room and got to work.

It was a _mess _inside of him. His lungs were torn in two places and his ribs were crushed, tearing blood vessels in the liver. The ortho attending was there to fix his pulverized femur and tibia, and would deal with the ribs as soon as Erica and Christina were finished. The harsh sound of the drill usually irritated her a little, but now, there was nothing- nothing except fixing the lungs of the man who probably hated her with the greatest passion of a million fiery suns. Bailey was busy suturing the perforated blood vessels of the liver, and finished before Erica did. She looked as if to say something, then changed her mind, instead turning away to scrub out and give Callie a quick update.

A few hours after, Erica attached the last pulmonary graft. Her legs, particularly her calves, were beginning to shake with hunger and exhaustion. Slowly she turned her head and held her hand out for the container of water. Breathing out slowly through her nostrils, she slowly dumped the water around the lung. Turning her head again, she looked towards the scrub nurse that held Gavril's respiration bag and nodded. "Give him a breath." The lung expanded as the nurse squeezed the respiration bag and Erica looked on with tired yet intense eyes, checking for any bubbles that signified a leak. "So far so good," murmured Christina. Lifting her head, Erica signaled for another breath. Once more the lung expanded with air and no bubbles leaked out. They did a few more test breaths and Erica stepped back, jerking her head towards Callie's dad at the ortho attending. "He's all yours," she said. She scrubbed out and her first step was to get something to eat. Her body was shaking in protest and her mind was trembling just as much. The image of Callie apologizing for her relationship with Erica rubbed the heart surgeon the wrong way. Okay, to be brutally honest, it scraped, it _grated, _and it _scoured_ Erica the wrong way.

Sighing, she collected her clothes from the bag she put them in when she pulled on her scrubs and changed back into her flats, pajama bottoms and Johns Hopkins University shirt. She drew a few looks from the staff as she made her way through the hospital to the parking lot. Dr. Hahn was always composed, whether it be in her dark blue scrubs and white lab coat terrorizing interns, under the blinding white of the OR lights or walking in and out of work. Now? With her hair smoothed back in a loose half pony tail and with her sleeping wear on, her whole look served to be quite clashing and incongruous with her previous image. At that point, she, quite simply,_ didn't care_. She threw herself into a cab she called after leaving the OR and planned to pay it with the emergency cash she kept in her locker for situations where she'd left her purse at home. It was only now she realized that Callie was still at the hospital, but again, she _didn't care_. As she paid the cabbie the fee and walked up to her house, her previous thought made her feel cold.

Not caring anymore wherever Callie was concerned? After all they'd gone through? That was horrifying. It was horrifying because it simply was just…out of the question. And yet, when Erica finished cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, it seemed like it was the case. It was tantamount to _sin_. _Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us…_ Gavril's whispered words came back to her, and she angrily threw the kitchen knife she just cleaned against the two magnetized knife rack on the wall, her temper taking a little pleasure of the loud clanking clash the steel made against the magnets as it instantly attracted to the metal. Erica didn't begrudge him his faith- to each their own, after all- it was just the fact that he refused to accept the idea of Callie with a woman. She breathed deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. Talking to, or even _thinking _about Callie, or Callie's family in this state would do no good. After making a sandwich and slowly sipping a tall glass of water, she cleaned up and threw herself into her bed, sliding comfortably and deeply into a dark pool of sleep. At least in the depths, there was no conscious thought. And Erica Hahn wasn't usually a dreamer.

……………………………….

Probably the worst part about treating someone who utterly hated and despised you was the fact that they were on your rounds. This thought occurred to Erica as she blew out an inaudible sigh as she opened Callie's dad's room. He glanced up from the magazine he was reading and immediately his face got ugly. "What do _you _want?" he snapped. Erica raised her eyebrows slightly and then walked to the foot of his bed, picking up his chart and paging through it, answering his question, even though she had a feeling he didn't want it answered. "You're my patient. Thus, you're on my rounds." She clipped the chart back to its place and walked around to the side, pulling off her stethoscope and reached around to press the cold disk to his back to listen for any abnormalities. Only, he wouldn't let her. "You stay away from me," he hissed, backing away from her. Erica fixed him with her glare, the one that made interns and Residents alike avert their eyes and rack their brains for an excuse to get away. "Mr. Torres," she began in clipped tones. "I know you don't like me- hell, you probably _despise _me, but that doesn't change the fact that I just saved your damn life, and the fact that you _are _my patient. So you _will _accept my check ups, and you _will _be quiet and answer my questions! Because if you do, then that means _I'm _doing _my _job, and we can all get the hell away from each other as soon as goddamn possible!" By the end, Gavril was looking more and sullen and glared down at the magazine. Breathing out roughly through her nose, Erica leaned forward and pressed the steth to his back, telling him curtly to breathe in and exhale. The rest of the check up went relatively quickly, and as Erica finished the ultrasound on his legs to check for clots and wiping off the conductive gel, Callie walked in. "Hey," she said quietly. Erica nodded and gave a small smile. The awkwardness level in the room raised about ten million notches and Gavril looked between the two of them with a look on his face like he expected them to jump on each other in the next few seconds and use his hospital bed for purposes other than sleeping. Making a last notation in the chart, Erica looked at them both. "Heparin's not the best treatment option anymore, Mr. Torres. Your body doesn't respond to it as well as we'd like, so we're going to have to give you an IVC filter in order to prevent anymore clots." That being said, she put the chart back onto the bed and, without looking at Callie, walked out of the room, clipping her pen back into her pocket. After she did, she leaned on the wall to collect herself, and it was awhile before she felt in control enough to push off the wall and start to move. She didn't have anywhere particularly pressing to go to, but she walked fast nonetheless because she wasn't sure what she'd find if she stayed any longer in or around that room.

"Erica."

She stopped, and turned. Callie was standing in the door way of her dad's room, her hand on the wall. The heart surgeon considered the other woman's stance for a minute and it seemed so fitting- half with her father in that quiet room, and half in the busy, milling hall with Erica. They stared at each other, and then Callie gravitated forward, timidly. She knew her words to her father in the ambulance had hurt Erica, had insulted her and what they had in more than one way. "We need to talk," she said finally, a few feet from Erica. "Yeah, we do," the blonde answered, her blue eyes flashing a little. Her voice was the same tone in the scrub room- raw, open honesty and a little shaky with anger from being pushed to the side. "I never expected…never expected to tell my dad like that," Callie began, a nervous laugh slipping out before she met Erica's eyes. A hint of a smile pulled at the other's lips a little, and the brunette took this as an encouraging sign.

The ortho doctor looked down at her hands again- they were twisted into white knuckles, and Erica glanced down as well. This definitely wasn't a good sign. Callie took a deep breath. God, this was going to be so hard to say, and she didn't want to cause any more pain to Erica, but…like the heart surgeon had said earlier, she had to let go to get something back. "My dad…My dad thinks that'd it'd be better for all of us if he went back to South Florida to have the procedure. And I…" she trailed off, glancing off uncomfortably, but not before taking a quick peek at Erica's face. It was the same expression that she had near the dart board when Callie had told her that Addison thought they were a couple: it was that inquisitive frown, the brow brought down a little with her intense eyes peering out at her. Combined with that small head shake that showed she didn't understand, it was like a replay of that night for Callie. She stuttered her words a little then finally took the plunge.

"And I think it'd be best if I went with him…" There was a huge awkward silence between the two doctors, filled up by the mindless patter of interns, nurses and other hospital staff swirling around the two like eddies in a river. "It'd only be for a little bit. Just to make sure he'd be okay…!" she added hastily. But Erica didn't hear that. All she heard was that basically Callie's dad didn't trust her professionalism to keep her work and her personal lives separate, and was now risking a clot to travel from his leg to his lungs, heart or brain, just to get to South Florida to get another surgeon to operate on him. And Callie was supporting him and his decision. Erica stood there and finally put her hands in her pockets slowly and quietly, still looking at the ground. She heard Callie say her name, and out of the periphery of her vision, saw her hand extend towards her. She turned away, eyes still on the ground.

Now this? This was really too much. This was too much, and even the confident Erica Hahn had to admit this. Blindly she walked on until her feet guided her to a nearby bathroom and she turned into a stall, quickly emptying the contents of her stomach and flushing when she was done. Exhausted and feeling like something the dog dragged in, she walked over to the sink and ran some cold water, rinsing out her mouth and wetting a paper towel, looking darkly into the mirror, she applied the makeshift cold compress she just made to her neck and hissed out a sigh. This. _THIS _was why she didn't do relationships at work. Silently she thanked the fact that she didn't have any more surgeries for today, because quite frankly, she wasn't sure she could wield a scalpel after what Callie had done to her. Drawing herself up and after tossing the paper towel away, she took one last lingering look in the mirror, her stormy blue eyes staring right back at her. Those eyes were now seeing a woman that was way different that the Erica Hahn that had strutted into the doors of Seattle Grace Hospital those months ago. _That _woman had kicked ass, knew who was who in the OR and outside of it, and had a budding best friendship with a Resident specializing in orthopedics. But now…this woman? The one standing, right here, right now? She had broken her own damn credo: _Leave who I am outside the doors of the hospital. _And once she broke it, it was sliding under the thick silt of emotions, and the Scientist, the cold side that had guided her and her scalpel so faithfully, had gotten stuck, leaving Erica to fend for herself. Finally she broke her gaze with the mirror and mentally stretched out a hand to the Scientist. It was time to get back to work.

……………………………….

When there was a car that wasn't hers or Callie's parked in the driveway, Erica felt her stomach drop five stories into the ground. Shit. Was her dad here? She turned off the engine after she parked and began to walk up the driveway when a shadowy form detached itself from leaning against the post and leaned a little into the porch light. It was Isadora.

"We need to talk," she said, crossing her arms and looking at the heart surgeon with her eyes flashing like chips of emerald. Letting out a harsh brittle laugh that cut the air like winter's frost, Erica nodded, and repeated the words that she'd said earlier when Callie took her world and smashed it to bits and pieces.

"Yeah, we do."


	18. Letting Go

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

…………………………………….

I open the front door and we both walk in. Carelessly I dump my purse and keys onto the table and walk around the cabinets, pulling a wineglass and a corkscrew from one and opening a new bottle of wine with a well- experienced turning of my wrist. "Want some?" I ask her, but she shakes her head slightly and takes a seat at the table, still watching me intently. I'm still in that phase of not caring about _anything_, even the fact that Callie's mom is putting me under the scrutiny that an oncologist would give a potential cancer cure. And this whole not caring thing? Well I used to be the best at it, but now? I'm cracked open, and I don't know how to repair myself. It feels odd but familiar, like running into an ex at something that's saturated in the mundane like a coffee house. I fortunately decide that caring can wait, at least for now, and throw myself into a chair at the table, pouring out a glass of wine and swirling the maroon contents. I don't drink it though. I'm watching Isadora, who uncrosses her arms and lays her hands out on the table. They're just like the hands that have held me, smoothed my hair away, given me pleasure, picked me up when I couldn't walk anymore, and have done countless of other things for me. She clears her throat a little and I realize with a poke of embarrassment that I've been staring at her hands, thinking about Callie.

"You're not a bad woman, Erica," she begins. Oh God. Is she trying the let's-soften-the-heartless-heart-surgeon-before-going-in-for-the-kill strategy? I lean back in my chair and meet her gaze, and it's now that I decide to take a quick drink of wine, holding the liquid in my mouth before letting it slide down my throat.

"Frankly, I like you. I wasn't kidding, or trying to make polite conversation when I talked to you after dinner. Whenever she talked about you on the phone, I could almost see the smile on her face. The way she said your name was like… like taking a breath of mountain air. A little breathlessly, you know? She _loves _you, Erica. Do you understand that?"

Hm. Apparently we're going with the let's-guilt-trip-the-damn-heart-surgeon tactic. Wordlessly, I stare at her, taking another sip. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms again. "I know my husband isn't the most…flexible… to change-" she says, and a snort escapes me before I can stop it. Fortunately, she ignores it and continues- "and when he puts his foot down onto firm ground, it's _down_. But, that doesn't mean that the firm ground can't change, even if the foot doesn't. Do you understand?" she asks again. As I nod, it clicks that she's going to fight for me, even if Callie won't. No, I have to rephrase that. I'd like to think that Callie will, just that she'll be more…passive-aggressive with it. Another sip and I trace my finger around the edge of the rim of the wineglass, catching the edge between my nail and my finger and pulling it slightly, the small chime I make going through the room like a whispered confession. Finally I drag my eyes to hers. "Why are you really here?" I ask. She does something I wouldn't have guessed she does a lot- she fidgets a little. Oh shit. This is going to be bad, isn't it?

"Callie sent me to try and talk to you." Soon as the words are out of her lips, a growl of disgust slides out between my clenched teeth and I quickly stand to walk fast upstairs. I start moving past her to the stairs to my bedroom so that I can just leave this entire mess behind in the dark caves of sleep. Only, her hands darts out and grabs my forearm and she snaps "Sit back down!"

I glare at her angrily.

"Why should I!? If she can't even get the guts to come herself and send you as a messenger then-"

"Gavril's not letting her leave!" She snarls, her eyebrows snapping down. There another few moments of tense silence and she's still holding onto my arm in a grip that an eagle would envy.

"I like you Erica, but if you _ever _insult my daughter again, all bets are off," she says now, quieter but still with that dangerous bite. Narrowing my eyes, I do as she says- I sit. And irately take another sip of wine. "I've come to collect some of her things," she states, beginning to stand. "Only enough for a few days. She'll be back before the week is out," she clarifies after a moment. Staring at the rim of the wineglass, I nod my head toward the bedroom without looking at Isadora. "Her things are in the drawers- the right side. And don't forget her black purse- it's hanging on the second hook in the closet. It's her favorite," I add. My nails make that chime against the glass bell of the glass and I feel her eyes burning into me. I glance up at her and look away. She reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. This time I meet her eyes and clear my throat a little. "Bring her back soon," is all I can think of to say. Ugh. How impressive, right?

That tight knot of emotion is in my throat and I swallow past it, taking the wine bottle and pouring more of the dark liquid to refill my cup. With a nod that I see out of the corner of my eye, Isadora leaves, her steps sounding so poignant on the wooden floors and then muffled by the carpet on the stairs. I'm not sure how much time passes as I stare at my wine, not drinking it at all when she appears again out of the periphery of my vision. "…Take care of yourself, Erica," she says finally. She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but then leaves, the door shutting with a seemingly loud click of finality.

…………………………………….

I'm not a big fan of cemeteries. And it's not that I'm unused to death or something- in my profession, death is as common as coffee sometimes, even though we try our hardest to make sure that it's usually not the case. My problem with cemeteries is the memories. They cling to your mind wistfully like a cobweb's caress against your face and when you try to brush them away, the residue is glued on your fingers. I finally pull my head up from staring at my wineglass and look around at my house, and I slowly realize what my house has become: a burial ground, filled with memories of a past life that I'd like to sweep away, but it still sticks to me. Even the dark wood table I'm sitting at reminds me of one of the first unofficial make out sessions we had at my house. And the couch in the front room off to the right? Brings back the day after the week she came to my porch, with her heart in her hands, begging me to fix it. I sigh and stand, washing out my wineglass then walking up the stairs- the same stairs that countless trails of discarded clothes were left as we made our way to the bedroom. I brush my teeth, and my eyes are drawn to the shower, then the bathtub, where Callie held me and pulled me back up to stand on my own feet. I rinse out my mouth and set the cup on the marble counter top where Callie had once sat, eyeing me as I had rinsed out my mouth before- a few mornings ago before work.

"_Let me see if you brushed all the properly," she murmured quietly and kissed me, not at all being shy going about 'seeing' if I had brushed 'properly'. _My toothbrush clatters to the dark marble and I stumble out of the bathroom. I can't deal with this. Too many memories, too many potential brands to burn myself with. I change into pajamas and I can't help but notice that Isadora used my advice and took Callie's favorite purse with her. Some of her clothes are missing as well. I let my gaze roam the room slowly, thoughtfully. Callie's iPod and stereo that used to sit against the wall on one of the nightstands is gone now, and a faint smile comes to my face as I remember coming home late one night and opening the door to my- ahem, excuse me, _our_- room and seeing her dancing in her underwear with huge sunglasses on. I quietly cleared my throat and leaned against the door frame. I remember the brilliant grin, and the sheepish blush working its way all over her body.

_"What?" she asked, pulling down those sunglasses and resting them on the bridge of her nose, just enough for me to see her smoky brown eyes. "Nothing," I answered with still that seemingly nonchalant expression even though my eyes were drinking her in like a glass of cool water. She knew damn well by my expression that it wasn't just 'nothing'. She held her hand out to me and grinned like a little girl. "Wanna dance, hot stuff?" she asked. I had let my briefcase fall to the floor and pulled off my jacket and took her hand with one of mine and used to other the hook around her hip and pull her closer. "I think we're going to be doing more than _just _dancing," I said with a smile, kissing her nose. _

When we were done…'dancing', she told me later than when she lived in the hospital basement, she was dancing in her underwear again and Richard walked in on her. I laughed so hard that my ribs ached and my lungs couldn't draw enough air in. She jabbed me in the side and made a face. When I still didn't stop laughing, she rolled on top of me then quite suddenly, my laughter ended in a gasp of air. _We_ 'danced' again after that.

I lay down in my bed and shifted around a little to try and get comfortable, but I knew it was probably going to be no use, and that I'd probably end up staring at the ceiling anyways. The first few days of Callie moving in and sleeping in the same bed had me trying to get adjusted- being alone for a long time and able to throw your limbs all over the place when you sleep doesn't work anymore when a warm body is curled up next to you. I reach out a hand and slowly trace a nail down the sheets where Callie would be. Isadora's flashing green eyes and words come back to me with such force that I sit up. _Whenever she talked about you on the phone, I could almost see the smile on her face….She _loves _you, Erica… _I hug my knees tightly and stare out the window, my fists squeezing together so hard that I suddenly feel a sting and I glance down with the disinterestedness one gives an ant. My palms have small half crescents on them from my nails, yet only one or two are welling with blood.

I feel empty, like someone suddenly pulled out any and every thing that made Erica Hahn…well, Erica Hahn. With a start I realize it's because I'm alone. Even when I was pissed at Callie or fighting with her…I wasn't alone. Angry? Sad? Confused beyond all blue shining hell? Yes. Alone? No. I blink a few times, registering my epiphany. If this was how I was before I asked Callie and Sloan out for a drink, then…ouch. _Ignorance is bliss, _indeed. A chime brings me out of my brooding thoughts and I see it's a text from Callie. I slide my phone open and see three simple words:

I love you.

The lyrics of a song that I heard on the radio awhile back flicker through my mind like a firefly on the lingering touch of a soft spring breeze.

_I don't quite know how to say how I feel _

_Those three words are said too much _

_They're not enough _

Chasing Cars, by Snow Patrol. Ah, there it is. I glance down at my phone and think how horribly apt those lyrics are. In a rare moment of sentimentality, I set her ringer as that song and then go back to the text message, unsure how and if I should respond. I'm not exactly sure how many times I press 'Reply', have my thumbs motionless over the keys and then press 'Cancel', only to repeat the process. Finally, I firmly press Reply and start to type.

_Are you in the air?_

I press send before I can rethink my decision, and I slide my phone shut and hardly am able to put it down when the immediate chime of a new text is heard through the room.

_No, not yet…my flight's delayed two hours._

As my eyes travel over this, an idea forms in my head. It's horribly cheesy, stupid, moronic and more than a little _Sleepless in Seattle_ style- (I'm not saying that about the movie however; I happen to be a fan, something which Callie never misses an opportunity to heckle me about) _- _and yet, it may work. I quickly change out of my sleep wear and into some black pants and a dark blue shirt. The Scientist coldly demanded what I was doing, but I dismissed it- for now. Backing out of the driveway, I knew what I was doing was right.

…………………………………….

After precious time is spent terminal hopping and hunting for their damn plane, it's worth it when I'm at the end of the rope and she sees me. Of course, it didn't occur to me until later to ask her where she was. She's looking so lost and at first her gaze just slides past me as another countenance in the crowd. Her eyes snap back to my face and wordlessly her mouth drops open in shock. I walk slowly towards her, against the traffic of the still busy airport. She stands, still looking at me and I see Gavril's head turns towards her, frowning in curiosity and then in anger as he sees me, face turning a dark red. He begins to stand as well, probably to tell me to get me and my sinning ways away from his daughter but Isadora grabs his arm and makes him sit down, shaking her head at him, those green eyes leaving no room for compromise. I take all of this at a glance then my eyes go back to Callie. She moves slowly towards me too then breaks into a fast walk and finally a run. We crash together in the swirling mass of people, holding each other tightly so we won't get washed away. Her body shudders as she begins to cry and I smile wordlessly in her hair, shutting my eyes and burying my nose in her hair, content just to hold her and affirm to myself that yeah, this is real. She's saying my name like it's a prayer that'll protect her and keep her safe. Finally we push each other at arms length and I wipe away some of her tears with my fingers. She smiles waveringly at me, and then lets out a shaky laugh.

A disembodied voice announces that her flight, American Airlines Flight 584, is now boarding. We both look at the terminal and then at her parents, who have begun to stand. Isadora is holding Gavril's hand, more in a gesture of restraint than affection at this point, I think. We turn back to each other and I lean forward, kissing her. It's not lustful, exactly, but it deepens none the less and she reaches up to cup my face with her fingers while my thumb lazily strokes her cheek and that patch of soft skin right behind the start of the jaw line. Dimly I hear someone's cat call and wolf whistle, and more than one variation of 'Damn, that's hot', but I couldn't care less. All that I know is that she's getting on that plane, and this is the last time I'll be able to see her for at a few days. It's like a prison sentence. She leans against me, pressing her body against mine as if imprinting the memory of the feel in her mind. I do the same and as I entangle my hands in her hair, the smell of cherry blossoms and vanilla float around my brain. I hold on to this moment and savor it forever, keeping it inside a box like a photograph I can touch, smell, hear and taste. We push each other back at arm's length again and I whisper, "You be safe, alright?" Wordlessly she nods, and hitches her purse over her shoulder. "You told mom it was my favorite," she says softly and we both share a chuckle.

"Callie!"

The sound of her name, so curt and sharp, makes us tear our eyes away from each other and look at Gavril, his body language threaded with tension and anger. Her parents stare at us as we both sigh and have one last kiss. Holding hands with our fingers entwined, we walk back to where her parents are and Gavril's lips are a thin white line. Wordlessly he takes Callie's other hand moves away, practically dragging Isadora and Callie with him. Giving her hand one last squeeze…

I let her go.

So I can get her back.

She still looks over her shoulder at me as they begin to walk in the corridor and she breaks free of her dad's grasp to run back to me, kissing me hard. "I love you," she gasps against me. I can't help it- I laugh and say "I love you too, Cal," and feel her lips curve into a smile against my own. Her dad is looking like he's going to have an apoplexy, so I nod towards him and her mother without looking at them directly. "You better get going, you know. So you can come back faster." She looks back at them and nods. Giving me one last kiss, she darts away, for the last call for her flight has been sounded. I'm not sure how long I stand there, smiling foolishly, albeit a little sadly, as half of my heart goes on to South Florida. I come to some time later and turn away, as the plane that carries Callie recedes into the distance. My heart feels lighter, and as I drive back to my house, it's not a cemetery anymore. I can look at all the memories now without feeling like I'm being crushed. My contentment invites sleep in like a welcome friend, and I drift off. The chime of a text brings me out of my drowsing state, and it's her. _I love you, _it says. And this time, I answer quickly, my thumbs no longer hesitating.

_I know. ) I love you too, you fool. _

The warm feeling lasts me through the morning and as I grind the coffee beans for my morning caffeine fix before work, I think that the next few days are going to be bearable, right?

.

.

.

Right?


	19. Oil And Water

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

Chapter title is a little cliche, I know, but I'll come up with a better one next time around. xD

Okay, so I'm breaking the pattern of my last chapters, where I'd go with two Erica pieces then one general perspective piece. But I will return with another Erica POV chapter the next update.

Here's what happened in South Florida...

……………………………..

It was as if someone had stoked a giddy fire in the pit of Callie's stomach and it had burned out, leaving coals of contentment. She'd kept looking over her shoulder as her father had pulled her along, but when she saw a delicate gloss of tears in Erica's eyes, she couldn't help but run back.

_I know. I love you too, you fool. _

Slowly she put her phone away with a wistful smile on her face. Her father was radiating waves of anger and just general tension and Isadora was rubbing her temples, but as of right now, Callie was on top of the world, if just a little sad. She'd felt as if half of herself cracked and shattered into shards of regret and pain when Erica dropped her gaze and walked away in that hallway after she told her of Gavril's decision. But when she saw a flicker of blonde hair in the airport and took in who it was, her heart had surged and dropped at the same time. It seemed as though Erica was going to deliver some severely unpleasant news- her face was set in determination, and there were a few lines of strain around her mouth. And yet, when Callie stood, all that melted away and she had to hug her, touch her, and just assure herself that Erica Hahn had indeed come to the airport.

Breathing out a slow sigh, she stretched her legs out in front of her and looked out the window, watching the glowing Seattle skyline get slowly enveloped by the thin clouds. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the window of the plane, only to get woken up by her mother when the plane was landing. Gavril had said not a word, and glanced at the two before silently pulling their bags down from the overhead compartments. They joined the mass of people walking off the plane and into the actual airport itself when the stuttered gasp whistled out between his teeth and he collapsed. "DAD?!" Callie screamed. Quickly she bent down by his side and her hands trembled and wavered in the air, stuck and in limbo between being a doctor and being a daughter. Finally, they solidified onto one side. "Call an ambulance, for God's sake!" She snapped. Her head darting around furtively, she finally located what she was looking for on the far side of the terminal. "Someone get me that heart defibrillator! NOW!" she shouted. Everyone was gathered in a circle around Callie and her father, and the person who had the kit in his hands had to shove people apart to get through. Finally the kit was thrust into Callie's hands and she set to work, tearing open her unconscious father's shirt and attaching the leads to his chest. The light glowed dully, showing that he was in v-fib. She pressed the button as soon as it had charged, his body bent like a bow, muscles straining. His body relaxed and he gasped, his eyes shuttering open. Callie let out a sob and sat back on her heels, the doctor in her finally relinquishing its seat of power to the daughter in her. There was suddenly applause and she looked up dumbly at all the people who were cheering her on. It was never like this at a hospital. Sure, the nurses and the doctors gave each other high fives and tired smiles, but it wasn't like _this, _right here, right now.

Several people bent down a little and clapped her back on a job well done, but it didn't really register. Squeezing her mom's hand tightly and looking down at her father, Callie didn't feel it or see it anymore, and she just began to budge when the paramedics got there and started to move him. She only let the first few tears fall when they loaded him into the hospital and it all sank in just what exactly happened the second they set foot into the airport.

……………………………..

It was three days after her father collapsed at the airport and Callie saved his life. She wiggled her toes in the soft sand, breathing deeply of the salty, sharp air and the gentle breeze off of the ocean. Her mother sat to her left, lacing her fingers loosely around her bent knees. "He just wants what's best for you, you know," she murmured, reaching out a hand to squeeze Callie's shoulder. She sighed. "Yeah, I do, but can't he see that _Erica's _the best for me? Even if she is a woman?" There was silence between the two women, swallowed up by the ocean's ever present sigh in the background. Isadora dragged a nail through the sand, tracing small patterns as she spoke. "When you were born, your father had brought you to the window and opened the blinds. It was sunrise, and he turned to me and said, 'Isadora,' "-and at this, Callie had to smile. Her mother's impression of her father's rough voice was indeed spot on-"'Isadora', he says, 'she will be someone beautiful. She will make someone lucky some day.' " There was more quiet at the neuro nurse gathered her thoughts.

"And, I suppose that you have. I am a believer in the Bible, but I like to think that my daughter's happiness comes first in this life. And Erica? She seems…fitting for you. She's lucky, just like Gavril said, to have you. But Calliope-" At this, Isadora reached out and caught Callie's chin in her hand and turned it towards her-"your father doesn't think so. You're going to have to choose. If she is who you want, you will have to fight for her, and for yourself if need be." She let what she had said sink in then she nodded when she saw Callie understood. Dusting the sand off of her hands, she stood and walked to the house.

Turning her gaze back to the ocean, Callie hugged her knees to her chest. The waves crashed endlessly on the beach, as if some sort of metaphor nature so conveniently put nearby. The sand, the beach was something she'd known all her life and was comfortable with, something she could always go back to. And yet…? The ocean was Erica, beckoning. It was something new, amazing and terrifying all at the same time, but it was worth it, wasn't it?

Slowly she got to her feet and took one last glance at the ocean. She knew how hard it was to break something as precious as a heart- after all, George had shattered hers into small fragments as soon as the words that said what she knew all along left his mouth in that hotel room. The ocean's waves crashed endlessly and she stared at them, words skittering across her mind like oil off of a pan.

_I'm sorry. _

……………………………..

Holding her mother's hand tightly, Callie walked into her father's hospital room. Coming to a different hospital was odd, but strangely comforting, like visiting your old neighborhood. Comforting to have something familiar, but odd to have it be so different at the same time. When they opened the door however, they saw they weren't alone in visiting him. Frederick King, one of her father's co-workers and a contractor, was talking to him and pointing things out on a sketch. They both looked up. Frederick took Isadora in at a glance but his eyes traveled over Callie at a more leisurely rate. He wasn't bad, per se, nice smile, good teeth, seemed polite. Not bad, Callie admitted. But, then again, she was already in love with someone else. Sorry, pretty boy.

Introductions were made, and he reached out and took Callie's hand in his own, and she half expected him to kiss it, but he didn't, for which she was grateful. He gave it a light squeeze, running his thumb gently over her knuckles. And he had blue eyes. A memory came crashing back, a lightning bolt of St. Elmo's fire as she remembered the sapphire purity of Erica's eyes as she apologized after Tapley's social. The thought smashed into her like a train, and her polite smile faltered a little.

"Ms. Torres?" Frederick asked. "Are you alright?"

"…y-yes. Could you…could you just give a moment? Please?"

"Of course." Nodding his head to Isadora and a smile to Callie, he left. Setting her purse down on the seat, she sat and laced her fingers together, rested her head on her hands. Gavril was looking at her closely, with a trace amount of hope in his face. "Frederick's a good man," he began, that same amount of hope in his voice, pleating the hem of the blanket without looking at his daughter. Callie slowly opened her eyes and glared at her father.

"And Erica's a good woman," she answered tartly. A muscle in her father's jaw ticked and he glanced away. Isadora locked gazes with her daughter and nodded slowly, encouragingly.

"I just want what's best for you, and I don't want to have to pick up back up again after you break apart like after your divorce, and find out that this is just some _phase-_" he said steadily, but Callie cut him off.

"No, _dad, _it's not just some _phase_," she snapped, her voice sharp as steel and just as warm. "I...she…Erica? She's amazing- she's smart, funny, she-"

"She's an abomination! A sinner to God!" cried Gavril, raising himself a little off the bed.

"She's a human being, for Christ's sake!" Callie shouted back. Her temper and ire were rising now, there was no going back.

"I just want the best for you Callie! Can't you see that? Can't you see that-that-that _woman _is NOT what the best _is_- or what you need!"

"IF YOU'RE GOING TO INSULT MY GIRLFRIEND, THEN USE HER NAME!" she roared. There was a tense silence, and Gavril turned red with anger and frustration at her choice of words. The only sound was the shaky breath Callie drew in and let out just as slowly.

"There's nothing that Erica can't give me that I don't need or can't ask for. I know…I know it's not what you envisioned for me, Dad, but it's something I want. Erica's who I want."

More silence. Gavril, this time, was the one who broke it.

"We've all….we've all said things and done things that we regret, Calliope," he began hesitantly. Callie looked at him with wide eyes, willing him to accept it, willing him to accept that this was who she was and how she was going to be. He took another breath and continued.

"And some of our mistakes…well, what I'm trying to say, is that we can always admit that's exactly what they are- mistakes. It's not too late to take this one back-" But she didn't hear. She squeezed her eyes shut and slowly stood. Her dad was still looking at his hands, and didn't see her kiss her mother good-bye, a sad but understanding look passing between them. She turned to the door and began to walk towards it, and finally Gavril noticed she wasn't listening at all.

"Where the hell are you going?" he fumed abruptly, the sharp bark in his voice stopping Callie. Her hand rested on the doorknob, and she slowly turned, hitching her purse over her shoulder. Her spine straightened and her shoulders squared in a show of defiance.

"Where am I going?" she asked slowly, as if musing aloud to herself. But there was no question, nothing to ponder. She knew what she was doing, and more importantly, where she was going. Taking one last look at her father, who looked so frustrated and helpless on the bed then glancing over at Isadora, who nodded slowly at her, Callie knew she was making the right decision.

"I'm going **home**," she answered slowly and quietly. And to everyone in the room, there was no question which home she was referring to, or to whom that home belonged. "Calliope!" her father shouted, reaching out his hands. She looked at them, and saw they were trembling. Gradually she raised her eyes to his face. There were the sheen of tears in his eyes and he faintly said, "Please…?" Except…it more of a hopeful sip of air, instead of a solid supplication for her to stay. Slowly she shook her head and dropped her eyes, turning back to the door and walking out.

Each step brought her farther away from the beach and closer to the ocean.

To the ocean.

To Erica.


	20. Violet Hill

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

("Violet Hill"- Coldplay)

Skirting a little close to the boundary between 'T' and 'M', just sayin'.

You've been warned.

I love you guys for keeping with me so far! Your feedback is always appreciated. That's the ink dried on all I need to say hehe. :)

…………………………………………..

At the end of the day, there's a certain ache in your bones and body that tells you that you kicked ass, and saved some lives today. Before, that ache was all the persuading that my body would need before dropping off into the blissful dark abyss of sleep, but not anymore. I should have been mentally preparing myself for the surgeries I'm going to have, but instead I'm worrying about Callie. Except from the two texts when she left, there's been radio silence between us. Whenever I changed out of my scrubs and into my normal clothes, I wouldn't be sure to drop from relief that nothing bad greeted on my phone or have corkscrews of dread twisting inside from not getting anything from her. I'm finally drifting off to sleep, resigned to another day of silence from Callie when, lo and behold, my phone starts to ring. Groaning aloud in frustration I slide my phone open and growl "This better be good!" Of course, it doesn't occur to me until two nanoseconds later that the ringer was Chasing Cars, which means it was Callie calling. Oops. There was silence and then a fearful shadow of a whisper "Erica?" That voice snaps me wide awake and I swallow down my yawn. "Callie!" I quickly sit up and snap on the light. I know the residue of sleep is still in my voice and I try to clear it. "Are you back in Seattle?" I ask. There's some more quiet and she says again in that broken whisper, "…yeah…" Shit. This wasn't what I was expecting. I hear her voice again, but it's swallowed up by background noise of an airport terminal. "Sorry, you're going to have to repeat that," I say, feeling like an idiot. I hear her shuddering sob, and I feel my stomach dropping down a million stories as she chokes out, "Can you please just pick me up?", still in that shakily defeated voice.

"Yeah. Meet me at the baggage claim," I answer, already sliding my phone shut and pulling on some sweat pants and running a brush through my hair. I don't ask her anymore questions, and as I throw my purse into the car and back it out of the driveway in one, fast smooth motion, all I can think about it getting to the airport and getting to Callie.

Frantically I search the baggage claims for the corresponding airline and I make it there before her and I stand there in my black jacket, arms crossed. I can feel the lines of worry on my face and I know I probably look like a mess with no make up. I can't stop my foot from tapping on the tiles of the airport as I wait for Callie. Nervousness has chased away all other thoughts except making sure she's okay. The jarring grumble of the baggage train makes me jump a little, but I resume my pacing and look at the hall where she should be coming down. A slow trickle of people begin to show up, and some of them look as haggard as I do, waiting, shoulders slumped for their bags. I spot Callie's and take it off of the carousel and wait for her. She still hasn't shown up. I'm about to pull out my phone and call when I see her. She's walking through the air port with a dazed and hurt expression. Damn. Whatever happened in Florida can't be good. I run towards her and her gaze found mine. It seems like she's going to break right there, she's so fragile. When I put my arms around her, I bury my face in her hair and whisper against her ear, "I missed you." And that's all it takes for her to release one last quaking sob and break down. I hold her for a few minutes, and we're both oblivious to the looks we're getting. When the traffic thins out a little, I lead her back to her bag, comforting her with her head still on my shoulder. She keeps crying and whispering about something her father had said and did with some guy named King, something else about the ocean and the beach and more jumbled sentences that I can't understand at all. I frown a little but don't say anything. I load her bag into the trunk and we both get back into my car. She doesn't let go of me for any longer than absolutely necessary, and she holds my hand over the gear shift the entire way home. At another time, I would've felt all warm and fuzzy inside, but not tonight. The tears soaking through my shirt are a poignant reminder.

Callie still hangs onto me as I open the front door. I decided to leave her bag in the car for now and get it in the morning. We make it up the stairs and to calm her down, I start a scalding bath and undress her. As much as I want her right now….I don't do anything beyond kissing her belly button, which brings a small, teary smile. And for me right now, that's enough. I ease us into the tub and she sits between my legs. I start to shampoo her scalp, dropping my hands to her shoulder to knead out some of the tension. "What happened?" I ask softly. Taking a hitching breath, she tells me. When she gets to the part about Gavril collapsing in the airport, my fingers tightened and she put her hands over mine. That never would've happened if the stubborn fool had swallowed his issues and let me operate. But I don't say anything. That part is already over and done. She told me of her talk on the beach with Isadora, and then the showdown in the hospital room, stemming from that King character she mentioned earlier. When she talks about telling her father to use my name to insult me, I can't help but smile a little and chuckle. She turns around and looks at me carefully. I gently nudge her to lean her head back and I run my fingers through her hair under water, rinsing out the shampoo and conditioner. As I do this, I look into her eyes and finally, wholly appreciate what she's done.

She's called it quits on her dad to be with me.

With _me_, Erica Hahn.

It's terrifying, and I don't say anything. At this point, I don't trust myself to say anything. I lean forward and kiss her upside down. She doesn't respond for just a second, and then she does, her lips opening under mine. I can't help but think of that kiss scene in the Spiderman that Callie made me watch one time. It's a tad uncomfortable, but then she twists her body and moves closer to me, and then there's nothing _uncomfortable _about it. Everything that happened in the last few weeks…fighting, having doubts, her parents…all of it melts away as of right now. This, just holding her in the still-warm water…it's… marvelous. She supports her weight on one leg and she uses the other to wrap around my waist and pull me closer and deeper into the tub. She's the first to break it, slowly kissing her way down my neck while her nails skim over my skin, leaving trails of desire and want as she goes. And then- Good _God_- she finds that spot on my neck and worries it with her teeth and tongue until I squirm and hurriedly kiss her again. The water is sloshing over the edge of the tub, and I decide that I don't want to spend half of my morning cleaning up water from tonight. I make the decision to stop- as hard as it is- and then stand, smiling a little at her mewl of complaint. She looks up at me expectantly. All I do is toss a wink over my shoulder and walk away, pulling a towel off of the rack and wrapping it around myself. I hear her drain the tub and follow me. I realize my breathing is more than a little shaky, and when I reach the edge of my bed, I close my eyes and breathe slowly out of my nostrils. With my eyes still closed, I feel her grind up against me and my arms automatically go behind me and hug her in reverse. She moves my still damp hair from the nape of my neck and plants a soft kiss there, then trails her mouth over my shoulder, lightly nibbling my skin and raking her teeth over the end bump my clavicle.

I try to slide my hands under her towel, but she lightly slaps my hands away, lessening the sting with a wink. "Tonight's about you," she murmured in my ear, the light tickling air blown against my ear making me squirm a little. She leaned her head forward and nipped my earlobe causing me laugh and continued her way down. Slowly her hands came up and pulled at the top knot of my own towel and it fell away. Still at her leisurely pace, she skimmed her nails over my skin; leaving myriads of goose bumps that ripple along my skin and making me shiver against her. My fingers tighten and I know I can't keep them still. It doesn't matter if tonight's about me- I _have _to touch her. Quickly I spin and deftly pull her towel down as well, kissing her fiercely, to make up for time lost fighting, and in South Florida. My hands come up and weave themselves in her hair, enjoying the damp warmth as she grinds against me again, revealing much different damp warmth _somewhere else_. She nudges me against the bed and I slowly sit down. She nods for me to lie down and I do so, still looking at her soft brown eyes. It's almost as if she is confirming to herself that yeah, she's really here, and that yeah, we're still in this together. Finally she bends over me and her fingers glide down slowly until they reach my core. From the lightest of her touches, I explode and jump over into the void with my first release. I see her eyes darken just before mine shut and my body tenses and bends into an arc with the endorphins rushing through my system in a silvery streak of pleasure as her name tumbled from my lips. Or at least, tries to. All that comes out that's understandable is the 'A' sound in a loud, stuttering cry. Faintly I feel my nails digging into my palms through the fistful of the sheets that I've grabbed and I hear her chuckle as she repositions her fingers and sends me _back _into that glorious orbit- again. When I finally come back down, my eyes snap open and as she smiles sweetly at me like a little girl, and I get the impression that what she just did was simply the beginning.

I'm not proven wrong.

…………………………………………..

One of the most cliché and hackneyed expressions in the world, _I_ think at least, is _expect the unexpected._

But by definition, you simply cannot expect to have the prescience to foresee something unexpected. And something I most certainly didn't see coming was the fact that as I'm in the lobby for some paper work, someone comes up next to my elbow and clears their throat awkwardly. I raise my eyes, all ready to kick some intern's ass for interrupting me when my eyes freeze and I have to blink a few times to make sure who I'm seeing. Gavril's standing there, his shoulders hunched and looking at me with a storm beneath his eyebrows. I'm not sure how long we trade glances before I finally decide to take some action. Primly I jam my pen that I was writing with into my jacket pocket and stand straight.

"I've been called many things from other cardio surgeons and other medical practitioners in general, but 'abomination' was a new one, even for me," I say. His face fell a little and he glances off uncomfortably.

"What else did she tell you?" he finally says, dragging his eyes back to mine. I let him shift and fidget a little before I answer.

"The fact that you tried to set her up with someone else for starters," I reply. He tries to laugh it off but it catches in his throat when he sees my expression. I snort in disgust and turn away but he tries to grab my arm to keep me from leaving. I round on him, something deep inside of me snapping from anger.

"Perhaps, Mr. Torres, you can wait in the appropriate place to seek medical care. I have a surgery in twenty minutes, and unless you are bleeding severely, I need you to wait." After watching his face harden angrily, I turn on my heel and stalk away. I can feel his eyes burning holes in my back, but I don't care. If he wants to try and smash Callie and me into the ground to show the 'natural' order of things, then fine.

But I won't break.

_**We **_won't break.

…………………………………………..

For the rest of the day, I'm not the in the best mood, and I snap at Yang, making her cower in the corner- _twice_. The patient lives, and I've preformed the procedure flawlessly but I can't enjoy it. The appearance of Callie's dad has had me worried and more than a little angry all day, and I send the second text of the day to her phone.

_You _do _know that your dad was here, right? _

There's no reply and I sigh silently, closing my phone and walking away to do rounds. I don't like this. I have a feeling it's the calm before the storm, and this time it's going to be one hell is a hurricane.

I finally get a text from Callie.

_When are you off?_

Hm. A little odd she basically ignored my earlier text, but I don't read too much into it.

_In two hours. Why? _

I hardly slide my phone shut when there's another chime and it's from her.

_You need to get home as soon as you get off. ASAP._

Shit. Well, this can't be good.


	21. Better Together

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

("Better Together"- Jack Johnson)

As usual, feedback is 100 percent appreciated. Even a few words can make my day- seriously. :)

Haha call me a sadist, but I like making you guys squirm…But, to be fair, here's a longer chapter than the ones I've been posting recently to reward you guys hehe.

Oh, and once more, some of this stuff is pretty…well, I dunno…how shall we say, _steamy_? So yeah, you've been warned. If you've read this far, then I suppose that you know what to expect, right? :)

…………………………………..

I don't wheel and deal with fear. If there's a clot, or some unexpected complication that comes up, fear is never an option or something that's there. It's mostly ethereal, floating in the outer reaches of my brain under a filmy lens that doesn't sharpen. The concept of fear was something that was never really hardwired into my mind. Even when I was packing up things to move out of my mother's house and into the run-down apartment I was tenaciously holding onto and she was screaming threats at me, fear was never there. I was sure, calm, cool and collected. So, I suppose that's why when I get that last text from Callie, I'm not sure how to deal. It's almost as if the lens upon fear is slowly grinding into focus, and there's jack shit I can do about it.

Two hours never took so damn long to pass by, and when I finally turn onto our street, I see an unfamiliar car in our driveway. Someone's leaning against it and when I pull up, I see it's Gavril- and Callie's standing nearby. I get out and walk over to Callie, trading glares with her father on the way. "Why is he here?" I ask, raising my eyebrows a little. My tone's more than a little prickly, but the words are out of my mouth before I can anything about it. She sighs and I see how haggard she looks- and it tears me apart.

"He said he wanted to talk, and you brushed him off."

"Understandably," I scoff.

"Yeah, well, now he's here, so _you _get to play with him!"

I blink a few times and stare at her. She buries her face in her hands and shakes her head. She mumbles something about not getting enough sleep the night before, but I think- no, I know- that it's more than just lack of sleep. Callie moves away into the house, still shaking her head. I resist the urge to reach out and stop her. We'll talk later. Right now, I need to deal with her dad. I turn away and look at him, crossing my arms over my chest. He leans off of the car's bumper and walks a little closer, slowly, as if he's afraid that he'll catch something by being too close to me. The thought makes my lip curl in a sneer.

"Why are you here?"

My voice is cold- so cold, that he flinches away from it. Or at least, starts to but then catches himself and takes another step closer, and into the glowing radius cast by the porch light. There's more salt than pepper in his hair that I remember and I feel the faintest flicker of pity before it's brushed aside like a pestering intern. He clears his throat awkwardly and I don't make a move, pin-cushioning him with the daggers in my eyes. Finally, he says something.

"When I came to the hospital today, I needed to talk to you. Not to get ignored."

"…Again, _what do you want_?"

"Callie…she…alright, fine, so you two may be together or whatever it is that you…do…-" he squirms uncomfortably at the thought of his daughter with another woman, I notice-"but like Isadora says…you make her happy. And…although in the eyes of God, what you have is…just…_wrong_, making my daughter…it…isn't…"

I'm vaguely aware that I've uncrossed my arms and softened my look just a little. His epic battle of acceptance is written all over his appearance, and it seems too fitting that one half of his face is illuminated by the porch light and the other is wreathed in the night's grasp. He takes another breath and meets my gaze, finishing his sentence.

"…Making my daughter happy isn't _wrong_."

He struggles with what to do next, but ultimately decides to hold out his hand in a peace offering. I look at it, and then back at his face. There's hope, true, but there's also defeat there, and it makes me a little angry. I know that he thinks I'm not good enough for Callie- that I can't give her what she needs or wants like a man could. But…I swallow all of that and firmly take his hand and shake it twice. When we pull away, there's just a hint of moisture in his eyes and he subconsciously wipes his hand on his pants before jamming it into his pocket. I don't think he notices that he does it. I refrain from commenting on it and we nod once at each other before I turn away to walk to the house and he goes to his car. I don't wish him well and he doesn't say good-bye. That's far too…comfortable… for what's been said and done in the past. Just before I go into the house though, I turn and see him idling in the driveway. And because he made the effort to come to the hospital to patch things up then, I raise my hand in a sort of salute. We both know how the other operates, and what just happened in the drive way has us so out of our leagues that we have to stumble back into our comfort zones without losing face.

He nods back and finally backs out. I watch him until the beaten gleam of the red lights of his rental disappears around the corner of the block, and that's when I finally go inside. I toss my keys in the dish near the door and toss my purse on the table. I slowly make my way upstairs because, well, let's face it- today's been a trying day, combined with my social _and _personal life. I open the bedroom door and Callie's there, curled up on her side of the bed. I watch her for a few moments then go change into a pair of black sweats and a white shirt. I climb into bed and prop myself up on one elbow. I reach out to her and my fingers gently slide up her back to her shoulder. It's a prompt for her to open up, and tell me what happened outside when her voice snaps out-

"I don't want to talk about it."

I feel my eyebrows cave down in a frown and I give her shoulder a light squeeze, rubbing my thumb over her skin before rolling over and trying to get to sleep. I hear her shift a little then go silent. Her breathing regulates into a sleeping pattern and I'm still awake, even though my body aches from fatigue and being on my feet for an ungodly amount of hours. I slowly get up and rub my hand across my face. I pick up my pillow and snag a blanket from the foot of the bed and walk outside. The night is calm and quiet, with just enough of that cool bite that makes me glad I dressed in sweats tonight. There's a bench on the back porch and I sit on that, looking out at the lights of Seattle that I can see from the back of the house. I slowly take in the famous skyline and a breeze whistles through the backyard, making me shiver a little and pull the blanket around myself. Of course, I could always sleep on the couch, but the thought of being inside just isn't as appealing as staying out here. The bench is surprisingly comfortable and I find myself drifting off, probably way sooner than I would've upstairs in the bed with Callie.

…………………………………..

I wake up in the early morning sunshine to find a small collapsible table in front of me with a bear and a white rose on it. The bear is black, with a small white ribbon tied into a bow around its neck and a note card with 'I'm Sorry' written on it jammed into the arms. The rose, I notice, is clipped from the garden and still has a few pearls of morning dew glistening on the petals. Slowly I sit up and pick up the rose and bear. Taking my pillow and blanket as well, I go inside and find Callie with her head down, staring blankly at the coffee bean grinder as it growls its rough serenade. Repeating what she did on the morning where her dad found us, I take the rose and slowly trace it over her shoulders, the rose leaving a trail of dew that I lean forward and kiss off her skin. I feel her tension in her muscles soften away beneath my lips and her head lolls back. "Good morning," I say between kisses. "I'm sorry," she answers, turning around and looking into my eyes. I smile in response and kiss her again. I nudge her against the table and she props herself up to sit on it. I leave the rose on the table in favor of sliding my hands up her thighs and grazing my fingers under her shorts. She tries to pull up my shirt but I shake my head with a wink. "This time…it's all about you," I say. Her mouth twists a little in complaint but it's quickly smoothed out when I lift her legs over my shoulder and pull her shorts and panties off, my nails gently raking her skin. I slowly give her open mouth kisses along her legs, closer and closer to her inner thighs. Her muscles tighten on my shoulders in anticipation and she lets out a partly stifled groan of impatience. Helplessly I chuckle. I can't resist teasing her.

Oh, this is just _too _fun…

…………………………………..

I usually don't do traumas, but with a ten car pile-up on the high way, they need all hands on deck. The doors swish open in a coldly mechanical sound and the EMT driver starts to rattle off the stats.

"Patient is a thirty five year old male, driver of one of the cars that caused the pile-up. BP's fifty over thirty-three. Complained of severe stomach pain, and there's a good chance for internal bleeding. He crashed once on the way here, and we had to push an epi and charge the paddles to get him back. He's on saline and 3.4 mg dosage of morphine."

My brain assesses all of the information quickly and I nod. But, then I smell it. I take another glance at the driver. He _reeks _of scotch and he looks back at me with bleary, bloodshot eyes. He notices me staring at him with a slight frown on my face and he glances away uncomfortably. He better have the worst hangover in the world because if he's been drinking on the job, so help me _God _I will ream him out with a goddamn scalpel. I don't say anything though- just give him that look and hope that's enough for him to reconsider taking a hit out of a bottle until **after** hours.

We set to work on the patient and we get him stabilized to go up to the OR for some emergency surgery. I pull off my gloves, tossing them to the ground while I slowly massage my neck, rolling it around. Cherry blossoms and vanilla tickle my nose and I know it's her even before she bumps my arm and greets me with a smile.

"Hey. He gonna be okay?" she asks, raising her eyebrows a little and motioning with her head in the direction of the patient. I nod.

"Mmmhmm. Shouldn't have any complications- it looks worse than it is and Bailey knows where the internal bleeding should be."

She doesn't respond- she's looking at my lips. It's a quick glance, but I understand loud and clear -emphasis on the_ loud_- that she's thinking of this morning in the kitchen. I smirk at her and turn away and I feel her looking at me. I decide to play it cool and not look back, instead heading off to do rounds.

We meet after work and when we drive home, she holds my hand over the gearshift. And this time, I _do _get all warm and fuzzy inside, giving her a crooked sidelong smile as I pull into the driveway. We get out and when I walk over to her side of the car, she meets me halfway and hooks her pinky with mine. The rest of our fingers mesh together automatically as I pull out my keys and unlock the door. It suddenly hits me how…_natural_…this seems- or rather, how natural this _is_. She must've realized it as well, for she looks at me with an unreadable look in her eyes and tightens her grip. She leans forward a little and kisses me softly, murmuring "I love you". For something like that, my emotions are too much in overdrive to let my brain come up with anything else to say and I just let my body do the talking.

I think she gets the idea though.

--

I slowly open my eyes and for a moment I just don't do anything else. Callie's arms are hugging me from behind and her legs are tangled up with mine. I can feel the soft exhalations of her breathing against the back of my neck and it's to this that I fully _enjoy _the morning. The curtains of the windows are open a little and I can see a glimpse of the Seattle skyline. I stay the way I am for a bit longer, then roll over and wake Callie up with a kiss and a playful poke in her stomach. Her eyes slowly flutter open and she smiles at me lazily. "Morning," she whispers before repositioning her arms accordingly to pull me a little closer. I don't respond, content to just look at every detail of her face, down to the arch of her eyebrow, the slight heart-shaped curve of her chin and those brown eyes that pull me, tumbling, over the edge every single time she even winks at me. We kiss again, but when it starts to get _really good_, I break it and smoothly get out of bed.

"Shower?" I ask. She slowly looks at my proffered hand then at my face. She nods and gets out of bed, but doesn't take my hand. Instead, knowing damn well that she's got every single **iota **of my attention, she walks to the bathroom with that special, deliciously deliberate sway of her hips that makes my mouth grow dry and I have to struggle to breathe. Yeah, it's that intense. I'm not sure how long I stand there, looking at the direction she's gone before I finally get it together and follow.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Losing control? It sucks. But as soon as I take a step into the shower and Callie's all over me like there's no tomorrow, I'm with the mindset that perhaps losing control isn't so bad _all _the time. Like now for instance. As my hands wander over the breathtaking landscape of her skin, I think that it's interesting, really, having your best friend turn into your lover. When we were just friends, we got to know each other so well that we'd finish each other's sentences. And now? I feel like I know her body like my own, something that I know as well as a heart. I know what makes it tick, and so it's only fitting that I give her the first climax of the day in but a few moments. I get a ridiculously huge power rush as she stiffens against me and the shower wall, her lips still on mine. Muscles, sinew and bone tighten against me and my fingers and she breaks the kiss to call out her release in a choppy cry of triumph. With her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth clenched, she still looks amazing. With her tongue wrapping around my name like a bite of fine chocolate, I can only chuckle in cocky satisfaction at what I can do. And, I return the favor from last night and launch her back into that magnificent nirvana-like plane by grinding the heel of my palm against her and adjusting my fingers a little. Oh, this time it's a real good one, the achievement of sublimity where nothing matters except the feverish whisper of skin against skin and the fervent crying of names. When she finally does come down, she sags against me and the shower wall and I take mercy on her, kissing her lightly on the forehead. She's looking at me with a slightly dazed expression and I smile at her in a fashion that can only be called wolfish. She takes her time attempting to stand and when she does, it's on shaky legs. We finish bathing in relative silence, stopping every so often to exchange a kiss…or two…or three. When I rinse the last of the conditioner from my hair, I reach up to turn the water off but she catches my arm before I can do anything. She shakes her head slowly with the smoky glint in her eyes and lowers my hand to my side before pinning _me _against the wall.

"My turn," is all she says before I lose control of all cohesive thought.

Now, see? Losing control in this fashion? It's definitely something I could get used to.

…………………………………..

After we get to work- on time, no less- there's a feeling in my stomach that will not go away. At first I blame is on hunger but even after I eat a bagel and drink some juice for breakfast, it doesn't go away. I sigh and look out the window. Callie's still in a rotator cuff repair and doesn't join me for breakfast, but it's not big deal. I'm still looking outside the window and I backtrack over the events of today and yesterday, trying to not let my mind wander over the mornings…and nights…and moments stolen in on-call rooms…. (all with Callie, of course.) because if I do that, then the whole damn point will be moot because I'll be too distracted. I try again but all I can think of ARE the mornings and such. I finally sigh and call it quits and finish my orange juice when I'm paged for a trauma. As I make my way down to the trauma bay, I bump into Callie. "Hey. How'd your surgery go?" I ask. She nods and shrugs. "No big deal. Easy tear to fix," she answers as we both gown up. I drag the sleeves of the trauma smock over my scrubs and white coat and start to tie it, but she's already there, doing it for me. Her fingers whisper along the skin at the nape of my neck and I can't help but to shiver a little. When she's done, she places a discreet kiss there and clears her throat. I turn and she's looking at me over her shoulder with her come-hither smile. She nods her chin at the loose ties.

"Do me next?" she asks. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bailey give us a glance and roll her eyes, but I ignore it.

"My pleasure," I mutter against her ear, tying the ends quickly and lingering a little longer than absolutely needed. We both have to move away a little so we won't be tempted to crawl all over each other right in front of everyone in the bay. Our little group of surgeons migrates outside and waits expectantly, everyone doing their own thing. Yang's basically bouncing on the balls of her feet, whispering over again and again for a cardio trauma; Bailey's standing with her arms crossed and her fingers tapping out a rhythm on her arm. Karev is there with his chin on his chest; a slight frown is on his face and Stevens is nibbling her lip and staring off into space. I cross my arms and passionately wish that godforsaken knot of unease would go away. Its approaching critical mass and I resist the urge to fidget.

The first of two ambulances arrives. Karev, Stevens, and Callie take the patient and wheel her inside but she crashes as they do so. Bailey mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath but goes inside. Yang starts to follow, but glances at me. "Go. But get back fast, understand me?" I say. She nods and follows Bailey. Through the glass doors, I see Callie look at me, then her face contorts in fear and anguish and she starts to run towards me, all of this happening the same exact moment that the knot of unbearable anxiety tightens intensely in the pit of my stomach. I turn and all I register before the horrifying agony are two things:

-Wow, ambulances are _really _red up close

And…

-I'll be goddamned- it's the same driver at the wheel that I smelled scotch on his breath.

When the ambulance hits me, I was already in motion, so it clipped my legs. But, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like blue fucking hell. To be more specific, it feels as though Cerberus, the guard dog of Hades, has each of my legs in his mouth and is enjoying an afternoon snack. My body goes into shock and all I can think about, all that I can see is Callie rushing towards me, but she's looks weird. Oh, now I see. I'm reasonably sure at this point that I'm lying on my side and it hurts even to draw breath. But from the lack of blood in my throat and windpipe, that means that the lungs aren't damaged. Probably just lower abdominal and my legs. All of this goes through my brain in a second and then Callie's there, her face twisted in anguish. She clasps my hands and looks at me with fear. I struggle to hold onto consciousness, but the grey around the frame of my vision isn't promising anything. We're squeezing each other's hands so tight, and that's all I focus on, willing my body to stay conscious while people shout and bellow for help and supplies. It all becomes a muted roar though, when I look at Callie's face. I don't say anything- my body's failing me and the grey is now swamping my vision. I know what to say, and I try to speak but Callie shakes her head, still petrified. And I think I don't _need _to say anything because, well, our eyes say it all.

_I love you…_

And then grey shifts to black, and she's gone.

…Am I?

…………………………………..

Author's Note:

Okay, so I'm going to be honest here: I had the idea of a car accident rolling around in my head for A LONG TIME, like before even the aortic dissection chapter. It was either the AD now or the car crash then. I was going to flip a coin to decide, but in the end I thought that they needed to mature and build on their relationship before something like this would happen.

Haha don't kill me….tell me about it!


	22. Stood On The Edge

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

("Amsterdam"-Coldplay)

Thanks for your patience. Really.

I tried for emotion in this chapter….did I get it? Leave some feedback and tell me what you all think! :)

…………………………………

The threat of death never, _ever _becomes clearer to someone in a situation of either extreme pain, or in the atmosphere of another demise close by. The senses are sharpened, and it seems like one's body is preparing to live as much as it can before its time here on this plane expires. And, when faced with the extreme distress mentioned earlier, the body's senses are sharpened- and sadly enough, to a razor's edge.

Such was the case with Erica Hahn. All she could feel was the mind-splintering _agony _that was steadily chewing away at her legs and abdomen. Images and sounds flickered in and out of focus like a remote signal on an ancient radio. The bright fluorescents passed by in blinding bars of light that had Erica blinking dazedly, trying her hardest to assess what was going on. "She's awake," a voice said, the sound sliding across Erica's awareness like socks on a parquet floor. It had that powerful, authoritative gravel that she knew to be Richard. She dragged her eyes around the faces that were jogging around her stretcher. Bailey was there, and so was Grey, who was apparently done and finished with her clinical trial for awhile now. And finally, Callie, who was squeezing her hand reassuringly. Her dark brown eyes were looking at Erica over her scrub mask, and she didn't break eye contact except only once or twice to watch where they were going.

When Callie scrubbed in, it was with a body on auto pilot. The brush flowed over her skin with the familiarity of many an operation coming before it. Briefly she glanced up at Erica- no, hold on a minute. She couldn't think like that anymore. Erica Hahn, the woman who had taught her to pull herself back up after her divorce, the woman who could salvage her day with a stupid joke and a smile, the woman who had amazing prowess in the OR and out of it, was on the table today. And yet, Callie couldn't let herself consider that- all at. They say that all great surgeons leave who they are _outside_ of the OR. So, thus, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, clearing her head of everything except the fact that a woman, a patient, _not Erica,_ needed her shattered legs to be repaired. She heard the doors open and close and Bailey was there, covering her forearms in the anti-bacterial soap in a slowly methodical fashion.

"Are you ready?" she asked mildly, observing the way Callie dropped her chin on her chest and finished rinsing off her hands..

"Yes. Not that I'd let you take me off of this surgery anyways," she answered just as mildly, but with a certain amount of bite. She hadn't forgotten how Bailey had restrained her from operating on her dad. And, although she understood why she couldn't, it still hurt deep inside and wept bitter tears that appeared unexpectedly, like an oil slick on the water. Bailey didn't answer- she saw the reason for the sting in the other woman's voice and therefore didn't read too much into it. They both finished and toweled their hands and arms dry and gowned up. When Callie picked up the drill and looked down at Eri- _the patient's _leg, it felt unfamiliar in her hand. As she got to work, inserting the pins and the intramedular nail, she couldn't help but glance at how the abdominal surgery was going. There was a quiet mutter between the scrub nurses, Bailey and Webber. And, that's when she heard it. Erica's blood pressure began to plummet and Bailey swore and glanced up at Callie. The ortho resident looked back and slowly shook her head. She would _not _leave this goddamn OR without Erica, no matter how bad it got. Squeezing her eyes shut, Callie turned back to the leg and repaired it with a renewed effort. She also would _not _fail in her job today. The sound of the drill screwing in the bolts in the plate that would keep the bone together fortunately helped Callie drown out the petulantly loud shriek of the monitor but when she turned the drill off, the warble was gone. Webber dropped his head a little and breathed out a sigh of relief. The hours in surgery crawled by, only made slower by the fact that they were operating on _one of their own. _Bailey and Webber repaired the last blood vessel and pulled their hands out.

"Dr. Bailey, you ready to close?" he asked. Looking carefully over her handiwork, she nodded, after a moment of careful deliberation.

"Dr. Torres, you done?" he said next, turning his attention to Callie. She affirmed that she was and with a final stitch, she looked over the legs she just repaired. She couldn't help but to lightly trace a finger over the stitches with a wistful look on her face. Elation had replaced what dread previously lorded over as she watched them wheel Erica away and out of the OR. She allowed a small ray of hope to fight its way through the dark stormy clouds that had taken over her mind ever since she saw the streak of scarlet hurtling towards Erica through space. Callie scrubbed out and tiredly pulled her scrub cap off of her head, rubbing the soft blue cloth between her fingers. She wasn't watching where she was going and bumped into someone smelling of a familiar aftershave. She looked up and into Mark's face.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. "Hahn…she uh….she okay?" he asked, making conversation. Callie rubbed a hand over her face and nodded.

"They got the internal bleeding under control, and her legs are going to be fine." She twisted the cap in her hands and finally looked up at him.

"Mark, I'm sorry for…for everything," she whispered, the threat of tears skirting close. He didn't answer- he understood, so all he did was pull her into a hug. The simple action said everything that needed to be said between the two doctors. He started to rub her back, comforting her, and then suddenly the threat of tears became tangible as it careened into Callie what had just transpired over past seven hours. They started to fall, streaking her cheeks in a screen of sorrow. A few nurses looked her way, but for the most part they left the two alone, with Callie drowning in a pool of worry and the unknown, with Mark as her lifeline.

…………………………………

There have been enough descriptions of grief and mourning to fill every library in the world and then some, but for some it never becomes more than printed ink upon a page until one _really _experiences it. Callie slowly stroked the ridge of Erica's knuckles with her the pad of her thumb and looked on with an unhappy ache inside that threatened tears every time she'd look too closely at it. It was like this, the first few days after letting George go. Shaking her head ruefully, she realized that this wasn't fair. She didn't toss around admissions of her love like candy to a crowd. Yet, it was almost as if for everyone that she loved, that she'd be willing to lay down her life for, was destined to fall away, no matter how hard she tried to hold them close. George…her dad…Erica...

Callie heaved a sigh and buried her head in her hands. A hand clasped her shoulder. It was Webber.

"Everything okay?"

Callie sighed and raised her head, looking once more at Eri- _the patient_. She had to think of her as simply a _patient_ because she couldn't get emotionally involved. Getting emotionally involved meant making mistakes, and with this particular patient, she couldn't afford to make any mistakes- not a single one.

"Yeah. BP's safe at one-ten over eighty, with pulse and EKG all normal," Callie replied, still looking at her face, ghostly lit by the overhead light.

"I wasn't talking about her," the Chief said after a moment. He pulled up a chair next to Callie and looked her over carefully.

"Dr. Torres, if you need some time-" he began, but Callie shook her head gently but firmly.

"Why should I need time?" she asked, frowning at her hands. They were knotted tightly together and she took a deep breath, making an effort to loosen them before she spoke again.

"You know…it was funny. I had thought about staying outside, to take the next patient with her, you know? If I'd just-"

"It wasn't your fault, Torres," he broke in. Richard had seen this brutal cycle before, in other loved ones who had suffered a loss. He wasn't about to let one of HIS residents get mired in the cycle. _He was a good man_, after all, especially for his residents, patients and the hospital. Giving her shoulder another reassuring squeeze, he continued.

"No-one could've known that the driver was…impaired…on the job yesterday. Do you understand that? _It was no-one's fault_, least of all **yours**. Erica? She'll be fine."

The ortho resident slowly nodded, still looking at her hands. Now they were slowly becoming uncurled, the knuckles slowly unfurling to reveal the rest of her fingers. With one last pat on the back, the Chief stood.

"Go home, Dr. Torres," he said finally after a moment of thought. Callie knew she still had about three hours left on her shift, but she nodded weakly nonetheless and watched him leave. After a few more minutes of watching the monitors, she blew out a sigh and left the room, but not before smoothing the hair from Erica's brow and gently kissing her forehead. She trailed her hand down her cheek in a caress that was so familiar she didn't think twice about doing it. Straightening, she left with her hands jammed in her pockets.

Callie drove her own car home and as she unlocked the door, it was quite possibly one of the oddest sensations she'd had in a long time- being by herself. The house was dark, and as she slowly made her way upstairs for a shower and- hopefully- some sleep, that darkness seemed to suffocate her, tightening around her neck in an unbearable noose that wouldn't be loosened by anything or anyone but Erica.

_I can't do this. Especially not alone, _She thought miserably as she numbly pulled out her phone and her thumb tapped in numbers that were so familiar to her. There were two rings, two rings that nearly killed Callie as she was waiting, her forehead cupped in one hand supported on the banister, waiting for the person on the other line to answer.

"…_Hello_?" Began the sleep-scratchy voice on the other line.

"…Mom?" Callie whispered, her resolve breaking into little pieces.

"_Callie?!_ What's wrong? Why are you calling at-" there was a brief pause as Isadora checked the time-"at _three _in the morning?!"

There were beats of silence that found Callie attempting to pull herself together, and ultimately failing.

"Erica- she's-she's b-b-been h-hit b-by a c-c-car and-and I d-don't-" Callie began, the thick cord of tears cutting off her cohesive speaking abilities. Isadora was struck speechless. "I'll be there, _mija, _just don't talk. Breathe. I'll be there. Just…._breathe._" Isadora hung up the phone and turned, to find Gavril looking at her, still half-asleep.

"What happened?" he mumbled.

"Erica's been in a car accident- I think. Cal was too broken up for me to understand her properly," Isadora answered, getting out of bed and blindly stumbling to the closet for a bag. She felt Gavril's eyes on her, and slowly she straightened, meeting his dark brown orbs. A million things were unsaid between them, but the eyes…well, they spoke enough. Slowly he rolled over and stared off into middle distance, not looking at Isadora, or even responding when she murmured that she'd be home soon. He didn't respond when she bushed her lips over his and trailed her delicately strong fingers over his jaw. "Gavril, look at me," she said in a rough whisper. Gradually his eyes focused on her. She rested her forehead against his. "She still wants her father. Not the man who's trying to run her life according to the Word of God. She wants her _father_, do you understand that?" she whispered. Dropping his eyes from her face, he nodded slowly. He reached out and took her hand, running his thumb over the engagement and wedding ring on her left ring finger. They both glowed dully under the Florida moonlight and when he looked back at her, there were tears in his eyes.

"….Tell Callie I'm sorry….and that wish Erica well. Truly, I do. I just….just tell her, alright?" he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. Slowly Isadora nodded and kissed him hard one last time before moving away and opening her cell phone to call for a flight. Gavril watched her go and rolled over in the bed, absorbing the faint hollow of heat left by his wife.

…………………………………

_I have to get away from this_; Callie thought as she stumbled into the shower, turning the water on the hottest it would go. She closed her eyes, but even that couldn't wipe away the haunting memory of Erica's face, Erica's touch- Erica's _everything. _She knew she was close to hyperventilating, but she didn't care. A gut-wrenching sob tore out of her throat and left her insides feeling raw and burning. The cold shower wall was the only support she had as her own tears joined the shower's droplets on her face. An unknown amount of time passed and then she fell to her knees, opening her eyes. Her hands were trembling, but at least she wasn't crying anymore. So, that was a good start, right? With a numb body and an even more senseless mind, she got out of the shower and curled up in the bed without putting pajamas on. She closed her eyes, willing her body to go sleep or at least take her away from this. She breathed deep- and there it was. The scent that was so uniquely…_Erica_. God, it was everywhere, on everything and still, Callie couldn't get enough. She inhaled until it hurt to draw in anymore air. Memories snaked into her mind, triggered by aroma of _her _and Callie simply let herself float as just another passenger on the bitter sweetness of the cloud of nostalgia. She curled into a ball, feeling the soft whisper of cotton under her bare skin. God, this was bringing back too many memories, crashing into and almost destroying her like a tsunami onto a sapling tree.

The first stop on the Transcontinental Memory Express flickered in her mind. It was the first morning after they were together, and it's almost as if the whole vision focused around the way the sun hit Erica's hair _just so _and making it glow like the sword belonging to St. Michael himself. Except, she was doing something as normal as sipping a cup of coffee and then Callie heard herself say a greeting. And- ah there it was- the crooked half smile Erica that threw her way- the one that made her insides melt into a wonderful mess, even before Addison had mentioned the Vagina Monologues. The memory played softly on like a black and white movie with the reel worn almost through with so many viewings, and Callie didn't realize she was wearing a faint smile on her face. _You're going to finish your coffee, right? _The line made her smile grow even wider as she remembered what came after. Carried on this cloud, it was how morning found her as the sun seeped through the curtains- with the smile on her face, lids closed restfully with her mind steeped in the thoughts of Erica Hahn.

…………………………………

She woke up. It wasn't something momentous- the sky didn't relent and take away the thick grey shroud it currently held over the city of Seattle, the earth did not quake, the blind did not suddenly see once more.

But, Erica Hahn was awake nonetheless. She turned her head slowly and realized she was on morphine from the IV next to the bed. She wasn't wearing oxygen, so that was a good sign- her lungs weren't damaged, just as she had assessed in the first moments the ambulance pinned her legs like a bug.

"Welcome back," came a dry voice. Erica frowned a little and blinked twice to clear her vision before answering.

"Isadora? When the hell did you come here?"

"The night after your accident. Callie called me at an ungodly hour and told me."

"Is-" Began Erica, but Isadora shook her head. Slowly nodding, the heart surgeon let her head fall back on her pillow. There was a heavy silence between the two as they both thought of Callie's dad. True enough, Erica didn't like the damn guy, but she respected him, and he not coming said that Callie didn't ask him to. Isadora thought the same thing. If Callie really wanted him to be here, then she would've called the home phone instead of Isadora's cell. When she told Callie of what her father had said, she'd hung her head and that set off another round of crying, which broke Isadora's heart. Seeing your daughter cry is pretty much a sure-fire way for your heart to do so.

Both were pulled out of their musings when the door opened and Callie came in.

"Hey ma. They were out of salads, but I got you a sandwich inst-" she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence and her eyes got comically wide as she stared at Erica. The blonde grinned back and called up strength to give a feeble half wave. Slowly Callie walked into the room and dumped the lunches onto a seat next to the one Isadora was in near the window. Clearing her throat quietly, Isadora left the room under the muttered excuse of going to the bathroom. The other women didn't hear her- they were too engrossed in the other to pay any attention to anyone else.

Callie slowly stepped forward and held Erica's face in her hands. Just as gradually, she leaned forward and kissed her, a simple brush of the lips. She pulled back and lightly traced the outline of Erica's mouth, just to reassure that this was no dream; that she was fine and everything was going to be alright- or at least, for right now.

"I missed you," she murmured, going in for another quick kiss and then nuzzling her neck, feeling the soft blonde hair all around her like a definite curtain. She wasn't sure how long they sat there, like that, holding each other as tight as they could, because, quite simply, all was right with the world.

Why?

Because Erica Hahn was awake.


	23. Addiction

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

Usual warnings apply.

Because you guys have been patient as hell, here's some lighter stuff to tie you over. I'm taking baby steps into the strange and scary world of fluff and this chapter, (along with some other stuff I posted earlier) are part of said steps. That being said, I'm kinda nervous as how it's going to pan out.

………………………….

Giving up an addiction is never, _ever _easy. Whether said addiction is an actual narcotic, something mundane as chocolate, or the best addiction of all: the OR, kicking the habit of anything isn't fun. It's been a few weeks since I got discharged from the hospital. Three weeks, five days, ten hours and fifteen minutes since I've cut into someone and repaired a heart. Six hundred-thirty-four-point-two-five hours since I've stood under the icy fire of the lights of the OR and dared to play God, with my scalpel or ten-blade shining my hand. Trust me- I counted. All I ever do now, in those afore-mentioned hellish hours, is eat, sit, get devoured alive by boredom, breathe and think about Callie. She's taken some time off to become my own private physical therapist and I probably wouldn't mind a lot if only manipulating my own goddamn legs didn't hurt so fucking much. Even with her knowledgeable hands helping me, it SUCKS. BADLY.

All of this goes through my head as Callie gently takes a hold of my leg and I put it through all the motions, guiding me and making sure I stretch every godforsaken muscle and tendon. By the time we're done with the first leg, a slight sheen of sweat is on my forehead and Callie finds this funny. I glare at her.

"Care to explain your hilarity?" I snap, with the aggravation evident in my voice. In response, she just chuckles again and repositions herself next to my side. She's dealt with many frustrated patients that have broken their bones, so my outbursts don't affect her. She knows.

"Hun, just this leg, and then we'll be done," she says to bring me out of my thoughts. Her voice gets a little husky and it makes me freeze. My mind is a million miles away from physical therapy right now. We stare at each other for a bit before she does anything else. She leans forward, brushing the sweat off my forehead and then kissing the quickly-smoothing-out frown line between my eyebrows. She lingers a little, and then moves her head down to take my lips with her own. Shit. This is where I almost want to weep with the unfairness of it all. Since my legs are still screwing me over and initiating this horrifying dry spell, that means no sex with Callie. _No sex with Callie…_quite possibly the four most unfair, brutal, terrible words that have ever created a sentence. A lack of having sex, however, doesn't mean making out is also off limits, a fact which I gladly take the opportunity to exploit. My hands slide down her sides to grasp her hips, and she hardly needs more urging to straddle me, pressing her body against mine, causing my brain to go blank on everything, except how amazing this feels. As always, her lips are of the softest silk, and I can feel her tongue brushing my own in a delicately lazy gesture. I try shifting my legs a little to get comfortable, but they're still extremely sore so I stop with a groan. She notices the movement, and, much to my chagrin stops the kiss and pulls herself off of me. She rolls away so she won't get tempted anymore and we stare hungrily at each other, me on my elbows to get a better look, my eyes traveling feverishly down her body. Her skin darkens even more with another flush and she rakes her hand through her hair. The only sound in the bedroom is the harsh panting we both can't seem to control. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She crawls over to my side and takes my right leg in her hands once more. I attempt to swallow, but all that comes out is a dry click. When her fingers caress and tighten against me…_I almost __die_. She glances over and smiles sweetly before making me bend my leg. A flash of light and then a fiery brand of pain glow in my brain. At this point, cohesive thought is out the window as soreness sinks its claws in my leg and I frantically will my muscles and tendons to bend and flex. I _think _that I might've shouted an expletive, but it probably came out as a whistling cough through my clenched teeth.

When we're finally done with this torture called 'therapy', Callie helps me into the bathtub. The soothing hot water gives me a chance to relax my legs and I let my head loll back against the edge of the tub. A sigh escapes my lips, and Callie, brushing her teeth, glances at me in the reflection of the mirror.

"I hate this," I mutter, shifting position in the tub a little. She smiles and spits out the foam.

"It's for your own good, you know."

"I'm sure. I'm ready to be done, whether or not it's for my own damn good or not," I answer, growling a little when my legs don't co-operate as I move forward for the shampoo. She doesn't reply. Instead, she watches my struggle with an amused expression. Finally, when I get the bottle, she lithely steps towards me and nimbly plucks the bottle from my hand. She sits on the edge and begins to wash my hair.

"See? This isn't so bad. You get waited on hand and foot."

"_To hell _withgetting waited on hand and foot. I want to be in the OR, I want to breathe medicine, I want to walk like a normal person and finally, I want _you _but none- and I mean _none- _of that is happening, so yes, I say screw_ getting waited on hand and foot._" After my outburst, she's quiet, her nails gently scraping my scalp. She urges my head back and rinses my hair. The silence stretches out and I wonder if I've offended her somehow.

"Cal, I-"

"Shut up," she says firmly. She reaches out for the bottle of soap and pours some out into her hands, which drop to my shoulders as she leans forward and speaks in my ear. Her voice? Good _God_…It's husky, growly…it's quiet enough so that you have to quit all lung functions for awhile just to hear and has just enough breathiness to it that makes your heart stop and pound at the same damn time.

"So…_screw _getting waited on hand and foot, huh?" she asks, sliding her hands down my shoulders and gently raking her nails on my skin. I can't speak- my body is in sensory overload as the comparatively cold soap slides against my skin and the heat from her palms, as well as the water, contrast sharply. She pulls her hands up my shoulders again and skims them down, down my body. It's alarming how fast I'm responding, but I guess that can't be helped.

She reaches my stomach under the water and then plants a kiss on my head as her nail traces a lazy circle around my navel. That unsatisfied ache from therapy returns with a vengeance, and I make my move. I have to do _something_, crippled status or no. I almost hear my muscles shriek in pain despite the soothing water as I flex them and turn. I put my weight on my left leg and pull Callie into the tub. Her smug smile of control is quickly wiped off as she gasps and sputters, soapy water going everywhere as she flails for purchase and finally gets her legs under her. A joyfully victorious laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it and she looks at me with narrowed eyes. It's only then I realize that she's completely soaked, not leaving much to the imagination. Her frown and my smile slowly fade from our faces, and she stands, shakily pulling a towel off of the rack. She steps out and drains the tub, then offers me the towel when the water's gone. I wrap it around myself, and when she holds out her hand I don't hesitate to thread my fingers with hers. She slings my arm over her shoulders and we gradually make our way to the bedroom. The water's helped loosen the bear trap of soreness around my legs, but not much. However, I could care less about them as Callie guides me towards the bed, making me sit down when I feel the edge bump the backs of my legs.

In fact, as she walks over and flicks a switch on her iPod stereo, the fact that my limbs burn even from the slightest of movements is far from my mind as a song begins to play and she begins to dance to it. Dimly I realize it's the same song that was playing in the bar when she started dancing with Sloan on the day of Addison's visit.

I believe that's when _it _happened- when I got the treacherous red tendrils that snaked through my brain. It wasn't until later that I realized I was jealous. Me. Erica Hahn. _Jealous. _Right….ouch. Before the Scientist in me can analyze and dissect this thought process any further, the id of my mind tells it to shut the hell up and let me enjoy this. I _need _this, dammit, and I'll be damned if I'm denied.

Her hips are rocking slowly to the beat, and then the lyrics come in, smooth as butter.

_Just the sound of your voice_

_Drowning out all my noise_

_When you call my name mysteriously_

_All the source to let me see_

_Little bit of feel good goes a long way…_

Good Lord. If there have ever been truer words, I've never heard them. Her hands slide up her still wet clothing, tracing every delicious curve that I've tasted myself. She rakes them through her curls, letting them fall around her shoulders and that's when she opens her eyes. They're that smoky brown that scorches me to the bone and leaves me breathless- exactly how I am now.

_I need your touch to get me through my day_

_Watching you sleeping I pray_

_Please don't make my feel good go away_

_Just a look of those eyes, cutting through my smoky skies_

_And the parts of me that grow from you_

_Cleared my vision so that I could see_

Her hands drop and she lightly fingers each button on her top before starting on the bottom. I hold my breath as her fingers nimbly pick each small disk of plastic through the holes and more inches of her caramel brown skin are revealed. She still swaying her hips _just so_ and moving slowly towards me across the room. It's extremely unfortunate that my legs aren't in tip-top shape; other wise I'd probably be all over her by now. And no, I'm not using that as just a figure of speech. She moves a little closer and brushes her lips against mine. But when I try to reach up and pull her closer, she snickers quietly and dances out of reach, knowing I can't pursue. I almost cry from frustration.

_Little bit of feel good goes a long way_

_I need your touch to get me through my day_

_Watching you sleeping I pray_

_Please don't make my feel good go away_

_Just the smell of your hair follows me everywhere_

_Your sweet alchemy turned trouble to gold_

_Transforming it all to let me know_

Callie's shirt drops to the floor in a dark green splash of color against the hardwood floors. Her fingers slide down her stomach and her thumbs hook into the waistband of her yoga pants _and_ panties. How do I know this? She shows me. Making sure she had my complete attention- not that she'd _ever _lost it in the first place- she pulled the elastic down just enough to show the contrasting blue of her underwear against the black of the yoga pants. She beings to drag them both down at the same time, but at the last moment, deftly slips her thumbs between the panties and pants, so that by the time she's done pulling her thumbs down, only her pants are off. Jesus, doesn't this woman do _anything _the easy way?!

_A little bit of feel good goes a long way_

_I need your touch to get me through my day_

_Watching you sleeping I pray_

_Please don't make my feel good go away_

_Little bit of feel good goes a long way_

_I need your touch to get me through my day_

_Watching you sleeping I pray_

I'm barely taking in enough sips of air as she straddles my lap and leans forward, pushing me down onto the bed. I reach up to hold her face and I pull her closer for a kiss that's more tongue and teeth than any deft teasing. My hands are trembling as I unhook her bra and slide down her back, cupping her butt, giving it a playful squeeze that has her laughing. We finally break for air and we're both in pretty desperate straits here. Somewhere in the foggy recesses of my brain, it's oddly gratifying that this dry spell between us is affecting her this much as well. Desire's taken a bucket of flush and has splashed it all over our bodies. I'm pretty sure my skin is an inferno and hers is the same, a nice shade that even shows through the tone of her skin. She kisses my cheek, continuing down my throat. I arch against her and she takes the corner of the towel that's tucked in the front of my chest between her teeth. Tracing a small circle on me with her tongue, with a small tug, she pulls the corner out, taking her sweet time to pull the fabric apart. She languidly makes her way down my stomach, and down even further.

_Please don't make my feel good go away_

_Please don't make my feel good go away_

_Please don't make my feel good go away_

_Please don't make it go away_

Amen to _that_, brother.

And if anyone makes _my _feel good go away right now, I will seriously stab them with my scalpel. Because I'm in that bad of shape. But hey. Not like I'm complaining, especially when she does _that thing _with her tongue that sends me over the edge in a mind-splintering release that feels like someone upstairs is pulling on my heart, making me arch and bend in way that I wasn't even sure I could accomplish. My body freaks out into overdrive as every muscle tenses and flexes, my hips in particular. Seeking, searching…not sure what yet but I can hear- albeit dim- the sound of a smug chortle from Callie as she watches her handiwork- literally.

I gasp for air when I finally come back down from _that _and open my eyes. From her expression, I get that it's going to be a very, _very _long night. But, again, I'm not complaining.

Even when my legs hurt like a fucking bastard in the morning.

Even though it hurts just to move them an _inch_, I don't complain.

It was well worth it.

Now, only three-hundred-seventy-three hours and forty five minutes left until I can get back in the OR. Then I'll be _all set_.


	24. Smoothly Bitter

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

(Erica's POV)

Alright so first off, sorry for not updating faster- I've been recovering from…stuff…and finding time to write has been hard. Also my muse has been a fickle, inconsistent partner...

Oh and a huge shout-out for those of you that reviewed- it's always nice to know that people are reading this, so thanks for that. :) Even a few words make my day- seriously.

…………………………….

There's something mystical in going outside of the pre-existing boundaries that marked where was where. Something indefinably- and undeniably- magnificent as you shatter the rules and fences from before and throw your gauntlet down on the new ground and say, "I was here first." Alright, so it's a little dramatic, but I can't help but feel that way a week back from my sick leave. Seven glorious days of surgery after surgery. Magnificent hours spent up to my elbows repairing hearts, removing clots, patching lungs...Daaamnn it's **good** to be back.

I'm paging through a patient's chart in the ICU after Yang and I have operated on him when my pager's called. I glance down at it, finish scribbling a few more notes down and then hook the clipboard back to the bed, giving my instructions to the nurses. It's Richard, and he wants me down in the conference room in ten minutes. It's urgent- a 911 page, so I try to make it there in five. There's that feeling that was previously described, that feeling of nervous excitement threading it's way through my veins in a shiny network of anticipation. It was like this when I met in the conference room with Addison and we learned about the ectopia cordis baby. When she asked if I was up for this, I was so ready I could've worked on the baby _right _on the conference table.

I'm pulled out of my reverie by opening the door and see Yang, O'Malley, Richard, and then someone else. I have no idea who he is. They're talking amongst themselves and then Richard stands, making the introductions.

"Emile, this is Erica Hahn, our head of Cardiothoracics. Erica, this is Emile Broussard. He's a neo-natal specialist from France, and he's here to debrief you on the basics," he said. Emile nodded at me and when he took my hand, he pulled me in for a kiss on both cheeks. The bitterly smooth vestige of expensive cologne graced my nose and it was a little jarring; after smelling Callie's cherry-vanilla fragrance on a regular basis (not that I'm complaining- bite your tongue!) it was just a little weird to smell something so…masculine. His thumb rubs slightly over my knuckles and a faint, arrogant smile touches his face. Hah. Bastard. I give him a cool nod and look at Richard. He hands me a folder and leaves the talking to Broussard. I slowly leaf through it, and he begins to speak, but not about the case.

"I've heard about you, Dr. Hahn," he starts. I slowly look up at him and he still has that faint arrogant smirk on his face.

"I read about your article in the journals about the awake open-heart procedure. Very impressive," he continues. I slowly nod and give him a faint, detached smile. He makes another comment about my prowess before I give a glance to Richard and he clears his throat. Smoothly, the Frenchman makes the transition from my surgery to the case of today.

"Patient is newborn of approximately five days after birth. Showed signs of being cyanotic, and a chest X-ray and an ECG were ordered. Both revealed the enlargement of the heart, especially the over-developed right ventricle. Diagnosis was made of Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Put simply, we need you, Dr. Hahn, because you were the closest and one of the best."

"Is the patient already here?" I asked after letting the information sink in. He nodded. I let my eyes rake over the information in the file, giving me the final details. Richard, Broussard and I talked it over a little more and then the meeting was adjourned. I pored over the file again, checking for any extra details and left. Broussard fell in step with me.

"Perhaps you'd like to get a drink later," he said, fully taking the opportunity to use his lilting French accent. I stop walking and look up from the chart.

"Dr. Broussard-"

"Emile, please," he interrupted. I consider him briefly with a slight tilt of my head then continue walking. He better not be like Sloan, but I have a feeling that he won't quit. Oh joy.

"I'm already involved with someone else," I say. Involved. Wow. That's a complete understatement, but the Scientist won't let me say anything else, so I let it go. To my annoyance, he still keeps walking beside me. Shit. He _is _going to become another Sloan. We make our way towards the OR 2, where I have a double valve replacement awaiting me- or rather, awaiting Yang while I rest in the wings. I resist the urge to ask him if he has anything better to do, but he finally goes away and then up the stairs to the observation deck. I scrub in and sure enough, there he is, gesturing with his hands to Sloan. They both laugh and then are silent. He leans back in his chair and then asks Sloan something else and then it's just his turn to laugh and shake his head, clapping Broussard on the shoulder. He looks confused and Mark walks off, still shaking his head. Hm. Odd.

I regard Yang and listen to the muted murmur between her and the scrub nurses. She knows what she's doing- her hands are quick and deft in maneuvering the replacement valve where it should be, then stabilizing it with the stitches. I have to correct her hand placement only a few times to not put any pressure on any clamps, but its minor- she's got it under control. I give a satisfied nod then I feel a pair of eyes on me. I glance up at the observation deck again, and I see Callie and Broussard. They're sitting right next to each other and I stare at Callie, taking in every detail of her face that I can from where I'm at on the surgical floor. Broussard shifts in his seat and that arrogant lift to his lips is back. He thought the lingering glance was at him, but by Callie's small grin my way, _she _knows. I look back down at Yang's work. She stands back and watches me.

"Are you ready to close?"

"Yes, Dr. Hahn."

"Then do it."

…………………………….

Working for such a long time that you see the sun set once and rise _twice _is one of the amazing perks of being one of the only Attendings on-call. Especially when a whole slew of trauma patients come in. My eyes are feeling grainy and burn so bad that I finally decide to crash in an on call room. My body aches, and I need sleep like a junkie craving their next fix. My eyelids flutter closed and I finally allow myself to relax. I'm descending deeper and deeper in the welcoming cavern of sleep when the door bangs open and a pair of senior residents shamble in, snickering and giggling. I recognize both, and my ire is nothing short of an inferno.

"On-call rooms are used for _sleeping_ as well," I snap. Ah yes. If there's something that I like as much as surgery, saving lives and taking names, it's putting senior residents in their place. They think that just because they're on the cusp of becoming an Attending, they're invincible. The residents in question freeze and look at me. I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I probably don't look like Mother Theresa right now. Stuttering apologies, they leave the room and I growl, turning over, hoping for sleep, which I get.

The next thing I know, an arm wraps around my waist and slowly, the fingers begin to pick apart the knot on my scrub pants. There's a warm body next to me and an even warmer whisper tickles my ear.

"Hey," Callie murmurs, nuzzling her head into my neck. Cherry-vanilla envelopes me once again and I just breathe it in.

"Hi," I answer in a happy sigh. She gets the knot undone, but her hand refrains from doing the obvious. Instead, she slides her hand up, under my scrub top. She's still nuzzling my neck, trailing kisses down my skin as her fingers wander lazily over my abdomen. She finds the scar from my appendectomy, caused from when I fell down my dorm stairs when I realized I was late for a seminar. I'd tripped on a carelessly tied shoelace, and down went Erica Hahn. Not fun. This memory is chased away, however, when her fingers hesitantly move over the abdominal surgery scar from seven weeks ago. I barely breathe, and I get the impression she does the same. I bring my hand around and squeeze hers. She lets out a sigh and tightens her hug. That's all that needs to be said- or done. Our moment is interrupted when there's a faint knocking on the door and a reluctant voice says,

"Uh….Dr. Hahn? Dr. Broussard sent me to….um…make sure you were….ah….ready for the peds case today."

Whoa. Hold on. _Today? _What time is it? I glance at my phone and I realize that I've slept for eight hours- way longer than the three hour nap I was planning for. Hurriedly I check my pager and there have been two pages- both from Broussard. The surgery is in twenty minutes and I curse under my breath while I disentangle myself from Callie. Once I'm standing and finger comb my hair into something resembling presentable, I give her a look. She has this patient smile on her face, and we both know that what she started isn't close to ending- it's just…postponed, is all. I turn away, but she gets up and darts over to me, her hand pulling on the waistband of my scrub pants. I look at her with a puzzled expression. She kneels before me- and Jesus Christ, _what is she doing?! _Yang is right outside the door and if she expects me to be quiet-!In fact I- oh wait. She's redoing the ties on the pants again. She places a gentle kiss on my stomach just above the knot and stands, raising her eyebrows a little.

"Someone's mind was in the gutter," she says with a wink. I roll my eyes and kiss her good-bye.

"I bet I wasn't the only one," I retort in her ear before turning away.

I open the door and Yang is standing there in a surgical gown and cap. She hands me my own scrub cap, neatly folded and, giving her a small nod, I proceed to tie my hair up, tucking errant strand of my hair beneath the cap. We both walk quickly to the OR while I quiz her incessantly on procedure. True enough, she's not going to be doing much, just holding a clamp or something else minor, but apparently we both see this as a learning opportunity for she answers my questions crisply and to the point. We both open the door to the scrub room and as we're washing up, Broussard comes in.

"I paged you twice," he begins, a hint of irritation in his voice. I can understand his tone, but nonetheless it rubs me the wrong way.

"I know," I reply, shaking excess water off my hands and turning away, thinking this conversation is done.

"I don't expect this to happen again," he adds, authority ringing in his accent. I stop and slowly turn around. I see Yang out of the corner of my eye edging towards the door between the scrub room and the OR. She looks caught between getting away from the tension and making sure she doesn't miss anything that's said.

"Dr. Broussard," I begin. I notice the slight glimmer in his eyes. Bastard. He's _amused._

"When I say something, I don't say it to hear my voice. When I say I know, it's because _I know_. Just because you have a shiny degree in neo-natal medicine doesn't mean you can come over the pond from France and talk to me like an intern. I am an _Attending_, same as you, and you _will _treat me accordingly. Do I make myself clear?" I don't expect a response, and don't wait for one either. I push the doors open with my back and then gown up, getting a pair of gloves from the scrub nurses. Broussard's right on my tail and we both get into position on each side of the baby on the table. Slowly I take a breath and he looks at me.

"Are you ready?" He asks. I look at him, pinning him with the patented Dr. Hahn gaze and don't give a reply. Instead I hold my hand out to the scrub nurses. "Scalpel," I say and when I make the median sternotomy, everything negative falls away. Every night spent feverishly studying med books, every hour, every _second _used living and breathing medicine…all of that is worth it. For what? Right here, right now. And why? Because I am about to give this baby a chance to live. The three step procedure is going to be hell on my already tired body and now I'm extremely grateful for the sleep that I did get, but still. I insert the Goretex tube between the left and right lung artery take-offs. I suture it in and Broussard looks it over, nodding. "Very good," he mutters quietly. I spare him a glance and continue to work. His praise means nothing- I _know _I'm good.

…………………………….

Throwing myself facedown on a bed never felt so damn good. After the HLHS procedure done on the baby, exhaustion reared its ugly head and I could barely drive home, drag myself upstairs and, well, there I am. Fatigue makes my limbs an exhausted mess, and they feel a million pounds as I adjust myself on the bed and pull off my jacket and pants. I'll take off my shirt later- right now it's just too much work. I don't usually dream, but when I do it's either really bad or really good. This time, fortunately it's the latter.

_Its sunrise, and Callie and I are sitting somewhere on the outskirts of the city and looking down on the bay. It's autumn- even in the dream I can feel that crisp bite that makes the tip of your nose cold and gives you the perfect excuse to sidle closer to the nearest warm body; that's exactly what I do in the dream and when Callie looks over at me and smiles, I can tell that she was probably thinking the same thing. She pulls out a thermos and pours us both a mug of what's probably hot chocolate. She then produces a can of whipped cream and puts some on top of each cup. We toast and look back at the sun rise. She takes a sip and a small clump of the cream is on her nose. She tries, without success, to lick it off. She laughs good-naturedly and I see myself reaching out with my thumb, swiping it off. With a wink and a small smile, I drag my tongue against the pad my thumb and then daintily drink my own hot chocolate. After giving me an amused glance, Callie joins me in looking at the sunrise again. She turns back to me and opens her mouth to say something. "Erica, you're-" _

"-smiling."

My eyes open and I blink slowly. I realize that I am in fact, smiling. I sit up and Callie hands me a bowl of soup, which I take gratefully. "So? What were you smiling about?" she asks me. I shrug, still grinning, and down the rest of the soup. She looks at me carefully, an unreadable look flickering over her face before speaking.

"So I met the new head of neo-natal today."

"Wait- what? Richard hired him?"

"So you've met Broussard then, huh?"

"He's another Sloan," I respond, rolling my eyes and setting the now empty bowl on the nightstand. We both share an understanding look and cackle until we're wiping away tears and our sides have that ache that tells of a good laugh. I lie back down and look up at the ceiling. The soup warms my insides and with the sleep I got, I feel completely energized. And from the look Callie's giving me, I'm going to need that energy.

Not that I'm complaining.

And we do end up in a pleasantly tired tangle of arms and legs, I drift off to sleep again, hoping to recapture that dream of Callie and I with the sun rise. But this time, none of that greets me when I'm granted with sleep. Instead, the bitter smoothness tang of cologne is awaiting me, effusing itself around me in a persistent cloud. I shift myself awake and shake my head a little. A few hours have passed since we both nodded off. I tighten my arms around Callie and bury my nose in her hair, taking in the cherry-vanilla.

I _love _Callie.

So what the shining blue hell was that cologne dream/vision thing about?

It's a question that keeps me up for far longer than it should. But when I finally get to sleep and wake up to Callie's sleepily charming face, it's receded completely to the back of my mind.

Where it **should **stay.


	25. Rockin' Robin

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

("Rockin' Robin"- Bobby Day)

Words can't express my appreciation for your guys' support and feedback. Thank you- **very much**.

Haha and this is probably the fastest update I've ever done…sorry, just a random fact. O.o

……………………………

Emile Broussard liked a challenge, especially when they were as tall and gorgeous as Erica Hahn. He slowly flipped a coin between the knuckles of his right hand with the ease of a lot of practice as he thought. He was a goner as soon as he heard her talk- that slight rasp made his hair stand on end and he shifted a little, a smile on his face at the memory. She _said _that she was involved with someone else, but that little look in the OR said something loud and clear- she was _interested._ Emile leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. That look was directed at him. He just _knew it._ She was just playing hard to get, is all. Then he remembered the look in Sloan's eyes as he told him about asking Hahn out for a drink. The way the plastic surgeon had laughed and clapped him on the back made Emile think a little. When Mark had said "Good luck," he said it in such an earnest way that made the neo-natal specialist think even more. There was history, he wasn't going to deny it, but still. All the lady doctors that Emile had hooked up with had been the same exact way: treated him coldly, referred to him constantly by his title, refused to grab a pint with him after work. Well, whatever. That was before he'd brushed up against them more and more, before he was so charming he could bring a blush to a boulder. Erica Hahn, he decided, would be no different. True, she wasn't French, but what did that matter?

Emile leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. What could he say? He liked a challenge, and nothing recently had piqued his interest _just so_ like Erica Hahn had.

……………………………

Erica decided she absolutely hated Mark Sloan's socializing skills. The idea came to her mind as soon as she saw Broussard sit their table, laughing and talking with Sloan. They seemed like best buddies for God's sake and all Erica wanted to do was go a remote corner of the world. With Callie, of course. And lots, _lots _of whipped cream. Yum.

"Dr. Torres. Dr. Hahn," Broussard greeted, nodding his head to both but keeping his gazes a little longer on Erica. She didn't respond, just shifted a little in her seat when she felt the insistent, pressing heat from Callie's thigh next to her own. The brunette greeted him with a small wave. When she dropped her hand, however, it was on Erica's leg. She dug her nails in a little and innocently continued eating her salad while the heart surgeon squirmed and disguised it by taking a bite of her lunch. There was mindless chatter between all the surgeons with Callie jumping in, not minding at all that they were Attendings and she only a Resident. Broussard kept sneaking looks at Erica though, and finally Callie decided, Attending or not, that enough was enough. She leaned back and began to talk to Erica.

"Remember what we did in this cafeteria? A long time ago?"

It took the blonde a moment to understand and when she did she glanced over and grinned at Callie.

"You mean…?"

A slow nod- accompanied with a very discreet wink that set Erica's insides all tingly.

Erica was getting ready to say yes when her pager beeped. She closed her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. It was one of her patients in ICU. She sighed and stood, collecting her trash. With a nod at everyone- except Broussard, of course- she left but still felt more than one pair of eyes on her as she did so. She allowed thoughts of medicine to overtake those of how Callie's lips would feel under her own or of Broussard's expression as he reacted. Hopefully, he'd get the damn hint and leave her alone. _Hopefully_ being the operative word.

--

"Dr. Torres, Mark tells me that Hahn's seeing someone," Emile stated, turning back to the table and starting in on his desert of a pudding cup. Callie raised her head and looked at Sloan. He shrugged and continued eating his sandwich. Clearing her throat a little she nodded and affirmed his statement.

"She is. And she's quite happy, might I add," she said, taking a bite of celery. Broussard shrugged, tucking a spoonful of chocolately goodness into his mouth.

"How happy?"

"Very."

"Well, you're her best friend, so tell me: what's he like? I need to know my competition," Broussard asked with a cocky grin. Mark and Callie exchanged looks and then she set her chin on her laced fingers.

"Well, this special someone she's with….I'll tell you a few things. This special someone…has dark curly hair…and…let's see…they are outstandingly good looking-" At this, Mark snickered and Callie shot him a look-", they break and set things for a living, they can get pretty jealous, and if you get _too_ familiar with Erica, this someone can kick your ass so fast and hard you won't know what hit you."

After her description of herself, Callie leaned back in her seat. Emile regarded her carefully. "Is that it?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. Callie resisted the urge to laugh and spit in his face.

"No. Just a fraction. But, like I said,-" at this she leaned forward and spoke in a slightly rough growl-"she's very, _very _happy. And, might I add again, so is the special someone." And with that, the ortho resident scooted her chair back and with a farewell directed at the two men, left to go. Broussard watched her progress across the cafeteria and looked at Mark with a slightly bemused look on his face.

"What was that all about?" he asked. Mark laughed and dropped his head on his chest. "Like I said, _good luck_. You're going to need it."

……………………………

Today was a good day, but a tiring day, and the end of it found the Head of Cardiothoracics at the nurse's station, filling out some last minute post-op notes. Erica swiped her fingers through the corners of her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing that she could go home and have a glass of wine to try and alleviate this headache. Or better yet, wishing that Callie was here to massage her neck (_and_, she thought, _let's face it- massage other things as well_). It seemed at her touch everything stressful could and would melt away. She opened her eyes to the smell of coffee. The hand holding it, however, was not Callie's, sadly enough. That bitter cologne swept in again, almost over-riding the smell of delicious caffeine.

"You looked tired, so I bought you this," Emile said with a wink. Erica looked down at the steaming cup then back at him. She didn't say anything, just frowned back down at the charts, continuing what she was writing. Her head was pounding, and she most definitely didn't feel like dealing with his crap today. Or any other day for that matter. Undeterred, the neo-natal specialist moved to her other side and took a sip of his own cup of coffee.

"You'll be glad to hear that the HLHS baby is doing well," he began, thoughtfully swirling the contents of his cup, as if it were a fine wine.

"I know. I checked the chart an hour ago," Erica answered mildly, scribbling down a prescription and signing it. She gave the binder to the nurse behind the counter and turned to go, pointedly ignoring the coffee cup on the counter. Emile watched her walk away, chewing his lip. Not one to be shaken so easily, he took the defeat in stride and turned to the nurse behind the station.

"You want it?" he asked, nodding his head to the untouched cup, still steaming a little.

"You're pulling a Sloan, you know. You must really blind, or really stupid," she answered mildly, filing away the binder Erica had given her.

"I'm sorry? I've been-? Wait- you mean you have seen the man she's dating?"

"Have I-?!" began the nurse incredulously, looking up from what she was doing. When she took in the honest confusion on Emile's face, she smiled wolfishly, the crow's feet at the corner of her eyes and mouth crinkling a bit. She considered the obviously puzzled Frenchman for another moment longer and then laughed, shaking her head.

"Honey, you've got a lot to learn," she cackled before snagging the cup of coffee and walking away. The sounds of her mirth echoed around the hallway as Emile stared after her, narrowing his eyes. What the hell was going on? First there was Sloan wishing him all kinds of luck, then Callie's description, her attitude during said description and now the nurse. He shook his head and received a text from Mark.

_Drinks at Joe's after work. Interested?_

Ah. Well, at least _someone _wanted a drink with him.

……………………………

Erica knows that she'll never forget her first trip to Joe's. There's that certain smell in the air, a sort of grain-y smell that reminds her of bread due to all the beer that's currently being dispensed out. It always feels just right temperature wise in the bar, and with colder weather encroaching steadily like ants up a hill, the frequent gusts of cold air from the outside from the door being opened or closed balance out the furnace that's on full blast. And, another reason she won't ever, _ever _forget her first trip was because she didn't enter a bar alone, like she had before in the past. She's brought out of her first trip to the past by an insistent tugging on her hand by Callie's hand. When they sidled up the bar, Joe knew better than to ask for what they wanted. Automatically he set a shot of tequila on a napkin with a slice of lime for Callie and a glass of red for Erica. With a smile and a bill left on the table, the two went to a table near the dart board. Music was playing in the background as they started to bitch and moan about their day, Callie complaining about a patient that was hit her in her gut while she was trying to set his leg and Erica about the advances of a certain doctor.

"He asked about whom you were dating, you know," the ortho resident said, smirking into her shot as she tossed it back. Erica raised her eyebrows as Callie waved at Joe for another.

"Really? So he knows?"

"Well, no. I almost spelled it out for him."

Erica chuckled.

"So, what did you say?"

"Hmm…let's see. I told him that you were happy,-" at this they smiled at each other like lovesick teenagers-"and I told him that you were going out with someone who was outstandingly good looking; then I told him not to get too familiar or else that someone would kick his ass."

"Indeed she did."

Slightly startled, the two women turned and saw Mark and Emile standing there, both with grins on their faces. Without an invite they both sat down at the table Callie and Erica were at. It was like a replay of lunch and Erica, for one, wouldn't have any of it. After a few pleasantries were exchanged, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, after giving Callie a discreet lift of her eyebrows and a small jerk of her head to show that she was to accompany her.

As soon as the door closed Callie turned to Erica, who was splashing some water on her cheeks and neck. "Hey. Are you alright?" she asked. The blonde nodded and then looked at Callie in the mirror, a smile slowly dancing over her lips.

"What?"

"I just got a _great _idea," Erica said, turning around and walking over to the bathroom door, locking it. And quite suddenly, Callie understood. What's more- she liked where this was going. She walked forward and met Erica halfway, burying her hands in her soft golden hair, hands sliding down her back to pull her closer. Erica's skin, recently cooled from the water, seemed to heat up right away under Callie's touch. But this time, it wasn't the uncomfortable warmth that she associated whenever Emile came by, but rather the uncontrollable fire that burned whenever Callie did so much as look at her with a half-cocked grin. She felt the cold tiles of the wall through the fabric of her shirt, but she didn't mind. With Callie Torres pressed up against you in all the right places, who in their right mind would?

When she'd locked the door, Erica had thought that this would in some way alleviate what Callie had set into motion during lunch with her hand on the blonde's thigh. Oh, how wrong she was. It sure as hell didn't slacken what Erica was feeling alllll daaay- if anything, it _amplified _it, making her whimper and gasp against Callie's mouth as their tongues met. But when she started to lift Callie's shirt, the resident stopped her. "Not here," the brunette growled, her voice strangled.

"As much as I need you right now, we're not having this in the ladies' room at _Joe's_ for God's sake," she explained raggedly, pulling herself off of Erica. The only sound was their harsh breathing as they struggled to get themselves under control. When they did, Callie unlocked the door and darted outside, Erica close behind. They made their farewells once again, and if Emile or Mark noticed their slightly mussed appearance, or their flushed skin, or the way they seemed to burst into snickers every time they did so much as look at each other, the men said nothing.

Which was just as well, really.

--

"They always that giggly when they leave?"

"Most of the time, yeah," Mark answered, taking another sip of his beer. He threw his dart and made it into one of the rings, but it didn't matter. They weren't keeping track of the score anyways.

"You made a pass for her, right?" Emile asked, looking at Mark from beneath his eyebrows. The plastic surgeon looked back and saw something flicker in the other man's eyes, but said nothing.

"Yeah. Should I tell you the story of how she shot me down for being 'too pretty'?" He asked with a smile. They shared a laugh and- wait- yeah, there it was. Mark saw it before the neo-natal specialist had a chance to cover it up. **Relief** had skated across Emile's features. Mark didn't comment on it though. A thought occurred to him before the other asked him to regale his story of the tangle with Dr. Hahn:

_Well, at least he _knows _something. _

As Sloan talked, Broussard couldn't stop laughing. Tears of mirth were rolling down his face and when the plastics surgeon finally paused for another drink out of his beer mug, Emile felt the unknown feeling from before pass away. He couldn't help but glance out the door where the two ladies had left not ten minutes ago. He dismissed the same feeling before, when he first saw the two together. Besides, that feeling, that nagging little thought meant nothing, right? It was just a temporary roadblock on the way to his goal, which was all. He thought again of those sarcastically poignant blue eyes and how on fire they were when they talked in the scrub room, and all other thoughts fell away. Erica Hahn was one _hell _of a challenge.

And, of course, Emile Broussard _loved _challenges.


	26. Say It Right

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

("Say It Right"- Nelly Furtado)

I wuff you guys. Seriously. Mucho love and appreciation to you all.

And I lay a PLETHORA of apologies at your guys' feet for taking so long to update.

That being said, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter…life has been…unkind…to me. That, along with the two re writes, are the reasons for the delay. Again, I apologize- profusely. :-/

(Erica's POV)

………………………….

I was pretty much always one of the guys. Before my mother gave me an inadvertent crash course in growing up, I would be one of those kids who'd pull pranks and jump in on questionable activities without hesitation. That is, until I started growing up and how shall we say, _developing_. One of my guy friends once gave me five dollars to kiss him. I shrugged, accepted the money and did so. For days after, he had this slightly glazed expression on his face. I never understood why kissing a girl would be such a big deal Well, until recently, that is. After kissing Callie Torres, that's all that needs to be understood. There's no wiry scratch of five o'clock stubble or anything that can be considered even remotely uncomfortable. Making out isn't the slightly awkward, shaky explorations of teen-aged years that I'm pretty sure both of us had experienced in high school. Even in a car, there's no hesitation, and we lean across the gearshift in a silently frantic cry for more contact from each other's bodies. Impatiently we both shove back the armrests for easier access. I keep my hands wandering around her waist, because other wise I'll mess up her loose curls. Callie, however, has no qualms and runs her slender fingers along the waves of my hair. We finally break apart and give a faint smile to each other. We make it to elevator without tearing each other's clothes off and go our separate ways, Callie to a torn ACL and me to the locker room to change and prep for my surgery. I'm still smiling- except it totters off my face when I see my locker. A rose is propped up against the lock- its red, the color of passion. I know Broussard put the damn thing there- I pick it up and, under the smell of the rose, is his goddamn cologne that seems to be _everywhere _lately. With a shake of my head I toss it on the bench and spin the lock to clear the tumblers.

"Getting that rose made me late for work, you know," Emile said, smoothly leaning up and coming closer from his position behind the locker. I didn't see him at first, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing an iota of shock. Not that there was any to begin with. I don't do surprises. Well, actually I do, but only if they involve Callie….and very leisurely breakfasts with even more luxurious showers after. Like this morning for instance. But, of course, the arrogant ass before me doesn't know or realize that.

"Then perhaps you should refrain from doing something so unprofessional," I answer, picking out my neatly folded scrubs and white coat. He doesn't say anything, but I can see him carefully looking me over. His arms are crossed and he's got his scrub cap tied on, leaning forward a little. I put all of my belongings in the locker and close it. When I turn to change in one of the locker rooms, he moves in front of me. I refuse to back down and narrow my eyes. His scent comes in and I'm pretty sure I've identified it as 'Contradiction' by Calvin Kline. Hah….Contradiction, indeed.

"Just one drink. Just one glass of wine- on me."

"Dr. Broussard, I have made it _crystal clear _that I am not interested. I'm involved with someone, and am-"

"Very happy- I know. But still. Just one glass."

He moves a little closer and I thin my lips angrily. If he thought that he can just sweep me off of my feet with a goddamn rose and designer aftershave, he has _no _idea who Erica Hahn is. We stare at each other before he finally gives a small nod, backing down and conceding the point- for now. His damn slate-grey eyes are shining with amusement when he winks at me. As he walks away he starts to recite lines of poetry. Man, who does he think he is? Don Quixote?

"_Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;_

_Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;_

_Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;_

_Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:_

_A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,_

_None fairer, nor none falser to deface her."_

Jesus. I can't believe this. He's not reciting what I think he is, right?!I'm half tempted to look around for cameras and for the soap opera director to shout 'Cut!' Arrogance is in his step, and I know he thinks he's got me with a few lines of poetry that he probably looked up on Google and memorized last night. Oh please. Play with fire, and you _will _get burned.

"_The Passionate Pilgrim, _Poem Seven, lines one through six."

He's frozen. Slowly he turns and looks at me with an incredulous frown on his face. I'll bet my salary he thought that I would be under the impression that he was some sensitive kind of guy and would wave my handkerchief in the wind for him. Well, regardless, whatever he was expecting, it sure as hell wasn't that. That chime whenever I show someone up sings deliciously loudly inside of me at his expression. I don't say anything else. My face is perfectly impassive as I turn and walk away to the changing rooms. I smile coldly to myself as I tug my shirt over my head and pull my scrub pants on.

_Well, Broussard, it's a swing and a miss! _

………………………….

O'Malley clears his throat and begins to present.

"Patient is forty three year old seven month pregnant woman who came into the clinic, complaining of nausea, light to moderate bleeding, and discomfort in lower right abdomen. First diagnosis was an ovarian cyst. The patient stayed overnight and developed shoulder pain. Discomfort of lower right abdomen increased to tenderness on that side. Diagnosis was changed to abdominal ectopic pregnancy via ultrasound. Treatment options include extraction of both fetuses, the healthy baby taking priority. Placenta, depending on position within the abdominal cavity, will be taken out."

He steps down and Broussard takes over, explaining to the anxious couple where he will make the incision. After he's done I add that I'll be on hand in case of any heart complications. That's when they get even more worried.

"Why would we need a heart surgeon??" the husband demands, a frown on his face while his fingers tighten on his wife's. Patiently I explain that in case of any hemorrhaging, I will be there to ensure that the heart will keep working. He leans back, still unsure but sated for now. Broussard finishes explaining the rest of the procedure and while he does, I let my gaze wander.

It falls upon Yang. Her mouth is a fine, tense line and faint frown marks are on her face. I can tell her mind is probably far, far away. I notice the way her hand is pressed against her stomach in a subconscious gesture. She blinks slowly and realizes what she's doing. Hastily she puts her hands behind her back and clasps them tightly. Hm. Odd.

With the presentation over, the doctors slowly file out of the room and the resident follows silently behind me.

"Want to explain what that was back there, Yang?"

"Nothing, Dr. Hahn."

"Sure didn't look like nothing. Are you going to be able to perform your duty as a surgical resident, or do I need to get another?" I ask mildly, checking her reaction. She mutters that she's fine and goes off. I watch her go, a frown on my own face. I'm bought out of my thoughts when Callie arrives next to me and we begin to walk.

"Hey. How's your day?" she asked. I shrug and nod. "I have to be on stand by for an ectopic pregnancy."

"How bad is it?"

"Without complications, I should still be on time for tonight," I answer. She smiles and opens her mouth to say something but all I hear is Broussard's voice. "What's tonight?" he wanted to know, walking up along beside us. Callie closes her mouth and shakes her head while I resist the urge to slap off the arrogant smile on the man's face. "Mind if I tag along?" he asks, casually including himself. Callie grins brightly at him.

"Sure. We were planning a lengthy trip down the feminine hygiene aisle at Walgreens. Should be fun!" she says in an excited voice. I lean closer to her and we both look at him, brows raised. He narrows his eyes at us and shook his head, blowing out a silent sigh as he walks away. We cackle and hold onto each other as we laugh at his expense. Slowly we pull it together and made small talk for a little while longer before heading to the cafeteria. "I wish we were home right now," she sighs to me as we collect lunch. I cock my head at her. "Why?" The line to pay is long and suddenly I'm glad because she moves a little closer and gives me a sexy smile. She moves her hand discreetly to my upper arm and I can feel the tensile strength in those fingers.

"Weellll," she whispers, drawing out the word like warm taffy, "if we were home, I could think of a million and one things to do with you. Of course, I could do them to you _here_, on a cafeteria table, but Webber would probably have a fit. Or ten." When she leans away I almost want to groan in protest as she takes her hand away, but not before swiping her thumb over my clothes that leaves a pleasant quiver rolling up and down my spine. Nonchalantly she nods at the cashier.

"Your turn to pay," she says with a voice just as mellow as her nod. Nothing in her manner now gives away the fact she proposed to have sex right there on the tables.

Good God. This woman is going to be the death of me.

………………………….

I remember the very first surgery I preformed when I became an Attending. I'd just bought my first scrub cap the day before: black with a floral design on it with red blossoms. I'll never forget the feel of the ties slithering through my fingers as I looked in the OR behind the glass window of the scrub room. I could see my reflection in said glass and I remember leaning forward, every iota of my being straining to get into that OR and transplant that heart, but at the same time trying to shy away because of the potential of failure. As doctors, we don't like to entertain the thought that if we lose a patient, that's on _us. _ It doesn't matter if they were basically dead before we get them on the table, it doesn't matter if we have a shiny new degree from the best med school in the damn world- _it's on us. _Failure is something that's unavoidable in this profession, and when you do fail- when you do fail to make sure someone's heart still beats, still keeps said person alive…it's nothing short of devastating. But….then again….there's nothing else like that rush when you see a transplanted lung take its first breath inside of a new body, or when you get a heart to beat again after lying still.

And for me, I ride that rush like a surfer riding the biggest crest of the biggest wave in the history of the world. When I shock the ectopic patient's heart back to life and see the sinus rhythm to normal…well, there's none of the unknown, no fear and most of all, no failure.

Yet.

"Okay, I've got the first fetus," Broussard says curtly, pulling the baby out of the incision. "Keep him flat; get him to NICU as fast as possible. We still got another baby in there." His directions are followed and out of the corner of my eye I see Yang looking down at the baby in her arms with a small, almost non noticeable gleam of tears in her eyes. I make a mental note to talk to her about it. I step back and watch as, two hours later, Broussard pulls the ectopic baby out. He glances down at it for a moment then nods and hands it to Karev, who, along with Yang, take the baby to be with his sister. Broussard rolls his neck side to side, loosening the tense muscles. He takes a deep breath and looks around the room. Richard speaks and I almost give a start- I'd forgotten that he was there.

"Emile…are you going to take out the placenta?" The Frenchman stands there for a moment, carefully weighing his options. All of us in the OR know that if he doesn't remove it himself, then the body could naturally absorb it and call it a day. But if that happens, a higher chance of sepsis- infection- could occur. On the other hand, he could take his chances and remove it but if he cuts an artery, or if a blood vessel bursts, then the mother could die as well.

Broussard takes a deep breath. He looks back at Richard and nods slowly. "Okay everyone, just a few more hours and this'll be done." He gets to work and I shift my weight a little, abolishing the prickle that was beginning to form in my foot. Another half hour passes Yang appears next to me, done from taking the baby to NICU. I take another glance at her and she's got the same expression on her face when I talked to her on the day that we both found out that Burke got the Harper Avery. She's staring straight ahead, with that dead look in her eyes. I'm starting to draw the parallels, but now is neither the time nor place to do anything about it. As if reiterating my point, Broussard lets out a loud curse- I'm pretty sure it was French- and his head snaps up to the monitors. Her BP's dropping like a stone, and he calls for another set of hands. Richard steps up and I crane my neck a little.

"Dr. Hahn! She's in v-fib!" growls Richard and that's when I get to work. I snag the cardiac ultrasound and move it over the mother's chest. And that's when I see it, and so does Broussard.

"Shit." Hah, indeed. A clot the size of Australia is in her right atrium. I start to get to work on it, giving terse commands for a ten blade. The mother's still in distress and I know that the sooner I get the clot out, then the greater her chance of survival. Everything now achieves certain clarity; I can feel the light sheen of sweat on the headband of my cap, the solid weight of the instrument in my hands. And suddenly, I know for a fact that I can do this. Richard's reassuring growl falls into the distance, along with Broussard and his tacky come-ons. I tease the clot out and get it into the catheter. I nod and grab the paddles. "Charge to 275…Clear!" The mother's body strains for a moment and that's when my legs go weak. Her sinus rhythm is back- hopefully to stay this time. Hell, it _better _stay. I pull out the catheter and sew the mom back up, giving a glance to Broussard and Richard to see how they're doing. He seals the last blood vessel and removes the placenta. He looks all around and nods. "Okay everyone…that is ah…how you say….a _wrap?_" He finishes with a smile behind his mask. Everyone in the OR exchanges congratulations while the observers on the deck clap and cheer. Callie's there and she nodded at me with a smile and a wink. I return it and tap my wrist, raising my eyebrows in question. It took longer than I had anticipated and I wanted to make sure we were still on for tonight. She mouths 'Of course!' and walks out of the deck. Yang closes up the mother and I scrub out with Broussard. He clears his throat awkwardly, and I swear to GOD that if he says one more goddamn word about getting a drink with him-!

"I'm sorry," he says, slowly rubbing the bar of disinfectant over his forearms. I pause and look over. He's fidgeting a little, tracing a finger over the white foam on his skin. "I shouldn't have rushed. I…." he stops, but whether he's looking for words or is done speaking, I do not know. He waves his hand over the sensor and rinses his arms off. I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking- that if he lost the mother, then he'd be sending those children off to live with a distraught father and an integral part of the family would be missing. Gradually Broussard straightens his back and leans on the sink, gripping the edges with his hands. I pat the towel between my fingers, noting idly that I need some lotion- my knuckles are starting to split. I turn to leave, but hesitate. He's still looking into the OR and I reach over, squeezing his shoulder. He reaches up and moves his hand over mine. I'm wondering what in the shining blue hell I've just done when he turns to me and leans off of the sink and a little closer. I slip away and wave my hand over the door sensor.

_Erica Hahn….what was __that__? _

The most disturbing part is…I may have succeeded in the OR but I've failed all the same: I can't answer my own question.

………………………….

I find Yang on the roof after asking Grey where she is. I see the resident leaning against the wall, her face in the wind. I set a cup of coffee next to her and lean against the wall as well. There's a weird silence between us and I'll be damned if I'm going to break it. It looks like I'm going to have to though but then she speaks. "When Burke was here….I…there could've been…" she lets the rest speak for itself and remains silent. She reaches out for the coffee and takes a scalding sip. I can see moisture welling in her eyes before she blinks it away. I slowly swirl the contents of my own cup around before taking another sip, watching the steam get whipped away by the cold wind. I lean off of the wall and she glances over at me. I don't say anything; just walk over to the door. I finally decide to speak. "Yang. I expect you bright and early on my service tomorrow," I say. Her head swivels away from the Seattle skyline, her eyes widening a little. We both know that she's supposed to be with Pretty of 'Pretty and Prettier' tomorrow. "Dr. Hahn…" she begins. I pause, looking over at her. She drops her eyes a little but I get the message. She's got a Scientist within as well, so I understand. Nothing needs to be said.

………………………….

I meet Callie at Joe's and we get a table in the corner, one that's tucked away a little. I slump a little and she scoots closer, concern weaving its threads through her face. She grabs my hands in her own and looks at me until I answer. I watch the ring of foam around my beer glass slowly slide down the sides before I answer. "Did you know Yang had an ectopic pregnancy?" I ask. Callie stiffens. She wasn't expecting that. "I…Well, yes I'd heard and..." she answers, trailing off her answer. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I reply, taking my hands away from hers and picking up my glass. She raises a brow but doesn't say anything. Slowly I exhale and lean my head back. She nudges my and I meet her gaze. "When we get home….do you want a massage?" she asks with a conspiratorial smile. I nod slowly and lean forward. She meets me halfway and this….it's soft, sweet and comforting. It's all that's unsaid and slowly her hand comes up to stroke my cheek, the pad of her thumb gradually meandering over my cheekbone and then curling under the ridge of my jaw line. I'm doing the same, except I slide my thumbnail along the smooth skin along and behind the ear.

Callie's the one who breaks the kiss and she looks up. I follow her gaze. Broussard is standing there, his eyes wide. Well. This was unexpected, certainly. He's staring at us like we've grown an extra limb. Callie smiles sweetly at him and picks up her purse. I finish off the rest of my beer and pull out a bill, laying it on the table. Callie slides out of the booth and I follow suit, brushing past Broussard. His eyes are still wide and there's a little hurt in there as well, but I don't over analyze it.

I thread my way through the crowded mass of people crammed in Joe's tonight. I take Callie's hand and with a gesture so familiar, the rest of our fingers link together. I take one last look over my shoulder and see Broussard staring at me. A certain amount of quiet wistfulness is on his face. When he sees me looking, he gives a small wave and nods his head, lifting his glass of white wine in salute.


	27. These Words

Author's Note:

("These Words"- Natasha Bedingfield)

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay- writer's block and depression have been KILLING me.

So I've decided to stick with writing Erica's POV from here on out. Switching the views has presented some….issues….like ones dealing with tenses and so on.

I'm writing this on my sick day (it's the only free time I have! how sad is that?) so I'm hopped up on cough syrup. I apologize in advance for any grammatical and spelling errors.

………………………………

The only sound I can hear is the thudding of my heart as it struggles to get back to normal. My eyes are still adjusting to the on-call room when I finally allow myself to breathe again. I can feel Callie's arm snuggled comfortably around my waist, and I have to take a few deep breaths, trying to get my breathing under control. I shut my eyes again, trying to get that dream back, but it's no use. All I can remember is the dull gleam of metal, but even that too swirls back into the muddle of my sub conscious. I feel Callie shift and yawn from behind me. We don't say anything for awhile, content to lay there and luxuriate in the warmth between our bodies as the weather outside dully reminds us of the passing of time with the cold patter of freezing rain against the window. She sighs, stretching out her legs a little before nuzzling my neck, rubbing her nose against my skin.

"What time is it?" She asks, a puff of warm air gently brushing aside the hairs on the nape of my neck.

"Six thirty," I answer, swallowing back my own yawn.

She sighs again and makes a whining sound in her throat.

"I have a ligament transplant in thirty minutes," comes the reply. I smile.

"I know. I wish we had more time," I whisper, turning around so I'm face to face with her. I pause and consider my words. When it gets down to it... I can't deny that's true. I _really _do wish that we had more time. Together, I mean. Out of nowhere, the dull shine of metal flickers in my mind again and I don't know why. I can't explain it, but that vision gives me a fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach. When Callie leans forward and kisses me, I know she's probably thinking the same thing. There's too much emotion in it otherwise. Regretfully, I pull away because we can both hear the insistent growl of my pager against the desk in the on-call room. It's a consult, and the number is Broussard's. I groan and roll my eyes, gritting my teeth. This man better have something pretty goddamn important- otherwise I will seriously cut that man's heart out with a dull, unsterilized ten-blade.

Think I'm joking?

I'm not.

………………………………

"Karev," Broussard intones, handing him the chart, "Present."

"Patient is two week old male infant, originally presenting with cyanotic symptoms. After being given extra oxygen, signs still persisted. Diagnosis of TGA was made-"

"Wait- what's that?" the father interrupts, his fingers tightening anxiously on the clear plastic of the patient's incubator. Patiently Broussard fills in that the arteries of the baby's heart are in the wrong place, and he takes over the presentation, explaining that he and I are going to use a piece of the baby's pericardium to patch the hole between the atria before correcting the arteries. The presentation is ended quickly after that, and when I walk to the nurse's station to look at another patient's chart, I can see Callie down the hall. She's laughing and talking with one of the ortho Attendings. They're acting way too familiar to be just talking about a fractured tibia, or something. And I think- ah shit there it is- the faint red mist of jealousy is beginning to seep into my mind. Jerkily I pull a pen out of my pocket and scribble down a prescription for Amiodarone.

"You should've told me, you know," Broussard says mildly from my left. I pause in writing and fix him with the death stare that has felled many a hapless intern and arrogant Resident.

"Excuse me?"

"You still could've saved me a lot of time and trouble."

"My personal life, and how I decide to spend the time outside of this hospital, are none of your business," I answer crisply, finishing up the prescription and close up the chart. I dot the 'i' in my signature a little harder than necessary, irritation at Broussard mixing with that filmy mist of jealousy over Callie.

"Something wrong?" He asks, not missing the gesture. I freeze and now look at him incredulously.

"Even if you did manage to make a complete ass of me in front of your co-workers, I still like to think that we're friends," he explains, flashing me a charming grin that would rival 'Pretty' of Pretty and Prettier. He crosses his arms over his navy coloured scrubs. I laugh helplessly at his arrogance, but apparently he takes it as genuine amusement for he smiles back at me and moves a little closer.

"So. What's wrong?"

"Nothing you need to worry your oversized ego about," I respond, going back to my chart. He regards me for a moment and then detaches himself from the counter.

"You're sure?"

"You Frenchmen never give up, do you?"

"And you American women never act _sane_, do you?," he replies tartly, laughing and nudging me with his elbow before walking away. I smile and shake my head slowly. I glance up again, searching for Callie and I see her, now standing by herself down the hall way. She's looking at me and I grin at her, but something's not right- she's worrying the edge of the x-ray film with her nail. Her face is in an expression I'm not quite familiar with but before I can walk over and ask what's wrong, I hear the beeping of her pager from down the hall. She drops her eyes from my face and rushes off to attend to the trauma.

………………………………

Seattle Grace is a calm, dignified hospital- when it chooses to be. An example of that simple, knowing dignity is the lounge in the southeast wing. It's tucked away in the hospital just so that with just a flick of the wrist to the blinds can block off some sun so one can relax, or pore over notes and new research. After all, even one of the wisest has yet something to learn.

It's where the morning after finds me, reviewing the arterial switch protocol and slowly tracing the rim of my coffee mug before taking a swallow. It's French Vanilla Roast, nice and strong to give me the right kick. But when I bring the cup to my lips, all I get are the dregs of the drink. I sigh and lean back, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, which burn with that horrifyingly single minded intensity that comes with little to no sleep. I wasn't able to go home last night, but I did leave a message on Callie's phone. She hasn't answered anything I've sent her and the tell tale knot of unease is forming. I try to put it out of my mind, but the door opening brings me out of my thoughts. Lo and behold, it's her.

"Hey," I say, looking back down at my notes but carefully keeping track of her out of the corner of my eye. She nods at me then turns to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"So how come you weren't home last night?" she asks casually. Except... it's _not _casual. Her voice has that slightly guarded tone, the effect of being _too _disinterested. I don't comment on it though.

"Didn't you get my message?" I reply, making a note in the margin of the paper I'm reading. I hear her shift while waiting for the coffee machine to perk and I glance at her for just a second to read her body language. She's crossed her arms and slightly hunched her shoulders- that's never a good thing.

"You said that you couldn't make it back. That's all," she says, a clipped bite in the two words at the end.

"I was in a conference call with Broussard and Dr. Jatene from Brazil for advice with the TGA case. When it was done it was so late I didn't want to wake you by coming home and I-"

I see her start to shift and start to cut me off, but before she can, Broussard walks into the room, yawning and giving me a smile and a wave, while only a friendly nod to Callie. I see her mouth shut and she stalks out of the room, muttering under her breath and running her hand through her bangs. I open my mouth and start to say her name, but even now I know it'd be to no avail. She's too far away to hear my voice. I curl my hand into a fist and I can feel the tell tale sting of my nails scouring my palms. I know exactly what she's thinking- and it pisses me off. How can she not have that much trust in me? _In us?! _You'd think that after all we'd been through, it would take more than a smooth talking, arrogant neo natal specialist from France to take away what we've worked so hard for. Tossing my head, I look down back at my notes to study for the procedure, but it's no use- instead of thinking about which part of the pericardium to make the harvest from, all I can think about is the way Callie slightly jams her heels into the ground with irritation and anger when she walked away, how a few raven curls escaped her hair tie and graced the neckline I've tasted so many times.

With an effort, I straighten out my hands and massage my temples. The last thing I need is a headache. I hear the dull thunk of a full coffee mug being set on the table in front of me. I raise my eyes and see that not only has he refilled my cup, he's set down two aspirin next to it. Now, really. It gets harder and harder to detest the damn man when he's being so irritatingly courteous. With comfortable abandon, he plops down next to me on the couch and languidly kicks his feet on the table with that damnable nonchalance of his. Silently I take the pills and wash them down with the coffee, rolling the dark roasted smoothness around before swallowing it all. The aspirin tastes bitter in my mouth and it seems like such a poignant reminder that I roll my neck and take a deep breath to get away from it all.

"See? I knew something was wrong," he says from his slouch on the cushions. Damn him. Damn him and his shitty posture and his godforsaken insight.

I give him a glare and don't respond, looking back down at the squiggly mess of lines and dots that supposed to be advanced cardiothoracic research. If I happened to look at him, then I'm pretty sure that my black ink pen would somehow end up in his aorta- I'm fairly certain I could be that accurate with such a utensil- but I don't really feel like going to prison for murder. Besides, in prison there is no Callie, and that could kill me faster than any lethal injection or electric chair ever could.

………………………….

When I put on my Attending scrubs at Mercy West for the very first time, I relished the feel of the slightly stiff, starchy feel of the cloth between my fingers and over my skin. I had finally _earned _this- the endless hours of getting belittled, hours of getting ground into the dust beneath the heel of my mentor's shoe, hours of no sleep and still having to man the trauma bay- all of that... it was worth it. I'm wearing dark blue scrubs now, but as I slowly, mentally page through a review on how to do an arterial switch on the two week old infant, I get that same feeling.

There's the whoosh of the scrub room door and I glance up. Yang comes in first. She's washing her hands with a methodically deliberate air, but the calm act isn't fooling anyone here. I did the same thing when I was a Resident; stare at the ground, quiet, hands folded, when in reality I felt like sprinting to the OR and cracking open the patient's chest faster than my mentor could say 'Coronary Bypass'. Yang's got the air of a brand new ten blade- sterilized and coldly bright, able to do the job at hand. There's no evidence on her face from our 'talk' on the roof; thankfully, there was no awkward "thank you's" or "you're welcome's" when she showed up in the surgical wing this morning.

I take a deep breath and attempt to steady myself. I've never liked working with kids, whether they be on the table or off of it. The arteries are thinner, more delicate; even the ones I'll be working on in a few moments are only 1mm to 2mm thick. Not very comforting, but I know I can handle this. Broussard comes in next and I can see him glance at me sideways as he waves his hand over the sensor. He doesn't say anything, but I catch him looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face but then he looks away. I finish tying my cap on and wash my hands, taking the towel the nurse hands me when I walk into the OR. I gown up, and when I turn to the child, I feel strangely empty. Without looking around, I know why: Callie's not in the observation window. When I checked the surgical board, I happened to notice that she didn't have any surgeries scheduled. That means that either she's gotten called away with a trauma or she's not there on purpose. The knot of unease in the pit of my stomach tells me that it's the latter.

I have to put that out of my head though- a baby's life is at stake here, a fact that's reinforced by how light the miniature scalpel fits in my hand. I make the first cut, and that's it. I'm gone- I'm in that zone that some people, if fortunate enough, get to experience in some form or another. The most fortunate ones get to experience _this,_ **right here, right now. **The feeling of playing God, fixing what Nature had made a misstep in this delicate dance we call life. I can feel the comforting weight of the headgear as it resides around my temples; I can see the gentle, quiet pulsating of the life continuing even though the heart is temporarily in repose; I can know that I can save this baby's life. And I do. I make the final suture- surgeons who use staples are lazy, which Erica Hahn is _not_- and step back, away from the table. Broussard, who has helped in sealing the hole between the atria from the grafts Yang took from the pericardium looks over the work. He nods at her, the beam of light sliding over the sky blue of her surgical gown. "Nice work. Both of you," he murmurs, the French lilt more pronounced as he next announces that this baby will live. The Resident glows with pride and as she closes up, I can't help but glance at the observation deck. Yeah- Callie's there, but standing in the door way with her arms crossed. That unreadable look in her face is back. When she sees me gazing at her, she shifts uncomfortably under the weight of my stare and ducks out. Shit. I have to talk to her. Now.

………………………….

I find her in the third floor on call room, after searching in four others. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, doing something on her phone. She glances up with irritation on her face but when she sees it's me, that annoyance doesn't go away. Neither does the unease that's been plaguing me.

"We should talk," I finally say. Slowly she nods and gets up, moving a little closer. She jams her hands into her pockets and glances around the room, not meeting my eyes. I wait until she does before I say anything else.

"Callie, I-"

The sound of the on-call room banging open makes me shut my eyes and want to scream at the heavens. I settle for whirling around, ready to fixate which ever unfortunate human being is the central focal point for my wrath right about now. I meet Karev's startled expression.

"What do you want, _Karev?_" I growl, spitting his name out like a sunflower seed shell.

He's panting a little, but from my anger or running I do not know, and he takes a swallow of air before he speaks.

"We need you. The TGA baby is coding," he reveals. He doesn't wait for my answer, instead choosing to sprint off back to Broussard in NICU. He knows he doesn't have to check- I'll be pulled along to save this infant's life even though my own seems to be in shambles. I turn back to Callie and she's got this flat look in her eyes.

"Cal-"

"Just go," she sighs, her hands fidgeting in her pockets. I sigh and step forward, kissing her quickly, chastely. I take it as a good sign that she doesn't pull away or do anything else that could be construed as 'bad'.

"Callie...I'll come home. And we'll talk. I promise," I hear myself say, and immediately after I want to kick my own ass from here to the moon and back. Doctors try to not create the habit of making promises- in our profession, there's too many unexpected variables, too many 'their condition was worse than we first expected' situations where we have to admit that harsh, bitter fact that we _just couldn't do enough_. Making promises is one thing. Having to break them and tell the families that you've failed in keeping said promise is another.

Callie realizes this; indeed, her eye brows lift a little and a smile graces her face, a most welcome sight. She nods at me and I turn away to go.

"Erica-" she sudden begins. I turn and she leans forward too, reaching for my hand and kissing me, gently running her thumb over my palm. My hands tingles even after she lets me go and she jerks her head in the direction of the door.

"You better go," she says, with that faint smile still on her face. I nod at her, and then finally turn away, following the trail that Karev has left in his wake.


	28. The Lines Are Cut

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

("The Lines Are Cut"- The Coast)

So since the new season is starting soon, I'm going to be wrapping this fic up. (Less than a week!!)

……………………

"Time of death… 22:37," Broussard sighs, stripping off his gloves angrily and throwing them onto the floor with disgust. I follow suit, letting the gloves drop listlessly from my fingers and start to walk fast, the sounds of my shoes whispering along the ground. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I need fresh air.

Now.

My feet carry me to the roof of the building and I throw open the heavy steel door. I don't hear the loud bang it makes against the wall and at first I don't register the fact it's starting to rain. When I do, it's like some sort of catharsis. It doesn't take long for the rain to numb my skin, but at this point hypothermia is far away from my mind right now. I tear off my scrub cap and pull out the pins and clips that keep my hair in place. From behind my shut eyelids, I can see the brilliant flash of lightning, just a simple precursor to the roar of thunder that still makes me jump. I'm glad it's raining and thundering; no one can see me break down. No one can hear the pain of my failure rip out of my insides like a brand of sorrow, flickering and fizzling beneath the relentless rain. I have failed. I have failed in not only bringing a patient back to life; I have failed in bringing a _kid _back, a _child_. That's something that never goes away. Ever. As doctors, we try to be as clean and ready as the tools we wield with our egos. Yang's like that; she's got an edge, so to speak. I used to have one, but Callie's worn it away.

I feel the rough bite of the cold cement cutting through the cotton of my scrubs and I slowly shift my weight off of my knees. My posture is shot to shit- I can feel a steady ache in my neck and back but I don't do anything about it. It takes the presence of a warm hand on my shoulder to bring me back down to reality. I open my eyes- they don't sting, so that means I wasn't crying for too long, thankfully. My hand automatically reaches up, and I expect to find the small scar between Callie's index and middle finger from an unfortunate cooking accident when she was fourteen, but I don't. I find broader fingers that most definitely are _not _Callie's, and I give a start, lurching to my feet in a most ungraceful manner. Broussard reaches for me and grips my upper arms.

"Dr. Hahn…" he begins quietly. His French tinged lilt cuts through the rain efficiently and for a moment, I hold my breath, waiting if he speaks anymore. He says my name again, quieter this time and edges forward. I don't notice his hand has moved from my arm to my cheek until I feel the pad of his thumb hesitantly move over my cheekbone, as if it's something so fragile that he's scared he'll break it. His slate-grey eyes are wide, and they dance and flicker under the ghostly light of the lightning. He leans closer and closer; then a louder crack of thunder makes us jump. Wordlessly he leads me away and into the stairwell, pressing me against the wall. His eyes are still wide, as if he can't believe that he's actually doing this. It's funny- I can't either. But….what I also can't do is _this_. I can't fail Callie, too.

"Erica? Karev said you were-" And the deafening scuff of shoes on the linoleum says it all. Horrified, I shove Broussard away and lunge after Callie, but she's already stumbling down the stairs. I catch her before she opens the first exit.

"Callie, listen to me- it wasn't-"

"Then what was it, Erica!?" she shouts, and the echoes reverberate around us, tearing me apart each time the sound waves reach my ears.

"He found me on the roof and I-"

"Did you fuck him too? No goddamn wonder you're always getting paged to his surgeries. I bet it gets pretty convenient, huh? Spend some time with him in the on-call room and he lets you into the OR?" she sneers. I blink several times and release her, taking a few steps back. Anger is rising within me now- and it's approaching the Point Of No Return. I take a deep breath and cross my arms in front of me, willing myself to calm down.

"He's strictly a _co-worker_, Callie. We've never done anything like-"

"Then what was that?!" she shouts, now stepping toe to toe with me. Furiously I rake a hand through my still soaked hair and fix her with a glare. She shakes her head and throws up her hands, turning and walking away, sighing as she does so. It's such a defeated sound, and it breaks me in half to hear it, and shatters me to know that I'm the cause.

"Cal, just wait…please," I say, my voice now down to a normal level. She pauses and looks at me. For just a moment, her expression softens then she happens to glance over my shoulder. Her oh so expression-filled eyes turn flat and she nods with her chin.

"You better go. Your _boy_friend is waiting for you," she mutters. I don't have to look to see who is on the landing behind me.

"He is NOT my boyfriend! You know that! _You're _my girlfriend!" I yell now, and the cord of restrain snaps inside of me. She whirls and snarls at me.

"Girlfriend? You sure as hell don't act like it! Sneaking around and then I catch you-"

"THERE WAS NOTHING TO CATCH ME ON!"

"You know what? Fine. Whatever. God, you're just like George! If I'm your girlfriend, then maybe you should try acting like it!"

"You mean like you did when you slept with Sloan?" I challenge. Shit. It just slipped out, and I'm horrified I said that. I haven't consciously thought about that time she went with Sloan after she was under the impression I was having second thoughts about her moving in- I was too grateful since then that it hasn't cross my mind. At all.

I clap my hands over my mouth and my eyes widen. No matter how bad I feel right then…nothing, I mean _nothing _could've prepared me for the expression on her face. Hurt fills her eyes in spades, and I feel like every single ten blade and scalpel in this entire hospital is pin cushioning my heart.

"Oh no… Callie I didn't-"

She doesn't answer, doesn't even register I spoke. She turns and vanishes through the door. Silence reigns in a collar that settles around my neck, choking me so badly I can't even start to swallow past the lump in my throat. I fall to my knees and press the heels of my palms to my eyes, willing myself not to cry in front of Broussard. I hear him move a little closer and hesitantly put his hand on my shoulder. I shove it away roughly and turn, walking down the steps. Inside the stairwell it's freezing, and my soaked scrubs feel like a sheath of iron around my body. I only wish they protected just as well.

……………………

Its dark when I come home, but I know Callie's here all the same- her shoes and purse, as usual, are in a messy heap near the door and it makes a tired smile cross my face at the familiarity. For what feels like an eternity, I raise my eyes up to the top of the staircase, where I can see the faint glow of a lamp from the bedroom. I set my own purse down on the table near the door and automatically pick up Callie's, my body and mind settling in the routine. I slowly advance up the stairs, and it's like every step is making fifty more pounds of dead weight settle on my shoulders.

When I get to the top, I raise my hand to knock on the door, but then berate myself. It used to be _my _house, for God's sake! And she's angry at me for doing absolutely nothing! She's has no trust from her marriage with George, and I suppose I can understand that. But there was _nothing _that she walked in on. It was just Broussard being…a good friend….right...?

I quell that train of thought for later and open the door instead. She's reading a medical journal, propped against the headboard, and she briefly raises her gaze at me then back at her journal. I lean tiredly against the door frame and rub my eyes.

"I'm sorry, for what I said earlier. It was….uncalled for, and….I just wanted you to know I'm sorry," I say. She still doesn't speak, instead narrowing her eyes slightly at the article. I highly doubt she even knows what's printed there- her fingers tighten on the glossy paper, making it crinkle slightly. And that's it. I've reached the end of my reservoir.

"Come on Callie! Speak to me! This is a relationship- people make mistakes, and you know what they do to fix them!? They talk!" I cry, throwing up my hands. I'm unashamed of the waver in my voice, the tears that tremble on the precipice of my eyes, the burn then the temporarily reprieve as they course down my face. I'm at the end of my rope, and when she still doesn't look at me, I fall. I turn and stalk out of the bedroom, slamming the door. I don't allow myself to cry until I get to the basement for a spare set of pajamas from the dryer. It doesn't dawn on me until after I throw my clothes into the washer and get to the head of the basement stairs that the sweats I chose are Callie's by mistake. I lose it, right there on the stairs, crumpling in to a horrifying mess. It's silent, the sort of shivering sobbing that makes your eyes and lungs burn for a few hours and your heart ache for what seems like an endless eternity.

Eventually, my sobs taper off and I raise my eyes, my body suddenly seized with an exhaustion so deep it makes my bones ache and my heart hurt even worse. I can't stand this- Callie's anger, distrust- all of it… makes me feel hollow, gutted, and everything else is just surviving, not _living_. As doctors, we sometimes have a tendency to blur the line between the two, but now not having the option to set my arm comfortably around Callie's waist or hear her say my name _without_ scorn and disgust…that makes me see the difference. With crystalline accuracy.

The door I'm leaning on opens suddenly and I let out a startled squawk before I fall backwards and almost onto Callie's feet. She looks almost as startled as me- then I see the red rings around her eyes that I know are probably reflected around mine. I lurch to my feet and stumble away from her reaching hand. I shake my head at her expression. I was ready to talk before, but not now.

"Erica-"

"We'll talk in the morning."

"But-"

"Cal, listen. I'm going to say something I'll regret if I… I…just need time, so…" I trail off, scrubbing my hand across my eyes. I trudge up the stairs and sit on our bed, letting out a weary sigh. I feel the bed shift behind me and the tension is so thick that I'm surprised we're not suffocating on it. I set my keys and my phone on the bedside table and slide under the covers, needing the peaceful oblivion of sleep. Only…it would seem that Fate is conspiring against me. The angry buzz of my phone against the wooden table demands I answer, and I do with a severely pissed off and sleep deprived, "WHAT?" There's silence on the other side of the phone and I'm tempted to hurl it out of the window.

"Is this Erica Hahn?" The voice is shaky, terrified and uncertain; the voice of a man who's not used to crying. Immediately I feel like I've been gut punched. Something tells me this isn't a social call. Letting out a tired sigh, I finally answer.

"Yes, this is her."

"And you are the daughter of -" there a momentary pause with a shuddering exhale against the phone-"of Amy Clavelle?"

Shit. I suck in my breath and let it out slowly. I'm pretty sure I know what's coming even before he says anything else.

"Yes…I am. What do you want?" I reply brusquely.

Another pause- he's taken aback.

"She…my Amy…she died in the hospital yesterday and…"

And then it hits me. My mother's husband is calling, and I have no goddamn idea in the world what to say, or what to do. Us surgeons... we _must _have a plan; we _have _to know what to do in all contingencies. We know how to deal with a clot, how to run a code, how to patch a severed artery. All those things we learn through a book or through the guidance of another whose tread the path before us to show us the way. But this? Attempting to give condolences to the man that married the woman who made your life a nice and tidy level of hell for years? Now really. There's no manual for that.

"…Mr. Clavelle, I'm sorry for your loss," I murmur at length, adapting the voice we use when we tell the family that, despite our best efforts, we failed in our duty.

"Yes well," he continues briskly, trying to shake off his emotion, "the funeral is in Waco on the twenty sixth." There's another pause.

"And….I think she'd want you to be there. All she could talk about after the heart attack….was you," he finishes. I frown. So even with the valve replacement, she still drank and smoked, even further weakening her heart. Wonderful. She never did learn. Wait... talk about me? I'm tempted to ask what she said about me, but I cut the train of thought as I do the median sternotomy, and with just as much ease.

"I'll think about it," I finally say, and after a few more awkward pauses, we both hang up.

"Who was that?" Callie asks, scooting forward. I slide my phone shut and lean forward, my head in my hands. I hear her fidget and shift before I answer.

"My step father. He said…My mother's dead."

I feel her hand on my shoulder. I stiffen under her touch and I know she feels it because her thumb stops moving over my shoulder. She takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Erica- I'm sorr-"

"Why should _you_ be? The bitch is dead- she's _gone_," I say harshly, looking away.

"You don't mean that," she replies with resolute iron in her voice. I don't answer, instead opting to roll on my side, facing away from her. I hear her snap off the lamp and then, ever so hesitantly, she lies against me, her arm going around my waist. I look at her over my shoulder for a moment before finally, _finally _closing my eyes. She moves forward and whispers quietly in my ear.

"I'm sorry, baby."

"I…I know. I am too." I strive for calm in my voice, but the hitch gives me away completely. I don't let myself be calmed by the feel of her against me- the words that have been said today are too much to be forgotten. Two little words aren't really enough to sew together what's been torn apart today, so I don't even try. Even though my body is yowling from exhaustion, I still don't go to sleep before Callie. I hear her breathing eventually deepen. I trace patterns in the sheets and then finally give up. Gingerly taking her arm from around my waist, I stand and pull a pillow and a blanket from the bed, opting to sleep on the couch instead. I would go for my trusty bench outside, but fall is fast becoming winter, and I'd like to not freeze outside. The couch is more comfortable than I expected, and the last thought that flickers through my mind like blood through an artery is that I have to apologize to Callie. _The right way_.

……………………


	29. Signal Fire

Author's Note: 

("Signal Fire"- Snow Patrol)

Those pesky little things called 'life' and 'school' have gotten in the way of writing, so that's why this update is short- sorry. : / I'll try and get the next one up sooner and it should be longer. Thank you all for keeping with me thus far. : )

I'm writing this at an ungodly hour, so please forgive me if grammar and spelling is a little hokey : )

………………………….

As surgeons, we never run from things. That in itself is a ridiculous notion- there's nowhere to run _to. _We must face and stare down the maliciously grinning face of death, scalpel in hand, ready to do battle whatever the cost.

Only…

This morning, I run. I'm a coward, and to think that the word applies to _me_ leaves a bitter tang in my mouth. I know Callie and I need to talk- my heart demands it- but this time, I don't listen. My cold and calculating mind is in charge now, and _it_ commands that I get to the hospital so I can go back to the familiar world of ventricles, atria and the OR.

I quietly get ready for work, almost sneaking around the house. When I get my purse, I glance over at the bed. I see Callie and she's watching me with accusing eyes. My mouth is suddenly quite dry and I hold my purse in both hands like it's a shield, protecting me from those dark chocolate pools of emotion. I clear my throat and fidget. Erica Hahn. Fidgeting. Callie doesn't remark on it. She just watches me then finally gives her head a little shake and curls into the sheets. She pointedly faces away from me and that bitter taste arises in my mouth again. I glance around the room uncomfortably, torn between leaving or staying and saying something. But…I'm a coward. I go with the earlier and turn on my heel, leaving the room. It won't be my last regret through the day.

………………………….

She's exhausted- it's written in the way she massages her shoulder and rolls her neck to disperse the kinks from holding a drill and working with bones for the entire day. We've both been booked solid, and in the past I'd be more than a little crazy at the end of the day with not seeing Callie's grin. Of course, today is no different in that regard and I know I need to at least hear her voice…even if it is raised in anger.

I make the last few notes for a heparin dosage for one of my patients and glance up. She's leaving the schedule board, yawning into her hand and en route to a nearby lounge for coffee. I quickly hand the chart to the nurse behind the station and catch up with her. I close the door with a note of finality and cross my arms when she looks back to see who it was. Immediately she sighs and finishes pouring her cup, shaking her head tiredly.

"I'm not doing this right now, Erica."

"Cal I know I should have stayed this morning but-"

She whirls towards me.

"You goddamn right you should have stayed!"

"What did you want me to do?! My mother just died and-"

"Don't use that as an excuse!" She growls, her brown eyes flashing. I can't find anything else to say- my planned speeches are fading away like sand through but I guess it's just as well. The door opens. Mark and Broussard walk in, cutting off in mid-sentence when they sense the tension in the room. Callie takes the opportunity and stalks out of the lounge. Mark raises an eyebrow at me and follows her out, leaving myself and the cause of this entire mess shuffling his feet.

"Erica-"

"No!" I cut him off, rounding on him. He actually flinches and takes a step back.

"Do _not _call me that. You've lost that privilege," I say, my voice going down to a freezing octave. He chews his lip and shuffles his feet again.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," he sighs, his French lilt thickening a little. He looks as if he's about to say more, but shakes his head and leaves as well. I'm not sure how long I stand there, willing that burn in my eyes to dissipate. I knuckle my tears away and straighten my back. My heart is hurting, but my mind coldly insists that it's time to get back to work.

………………………….

After a ten hour surgery, I know I should go home and sleep. But I know just as well that I can't. I refuse to sleep on the couch- I've tried to talk and extended the olive branch so many goddamn times and it's an exercise in futility. So I moodily hole up into an on-call room and stare at my phone, willing the familiar blue glow to cut through the darkness. It doesn't, and I resign myself to no sleep. Apparently my body has other ideas, for Bailey comes rushing in. She's the only one who would dare wake Erica Hahn on purpose.

"Dr. Hahn, we've got an aortic dissection on our hands and-"

I don't hear anything after that. I go into motion, and my mind is on auto pilot, asking Bailey on the patient's condition. A dark shroud of fear is clamping around my heart and I feel like I can't breathe. Memories of when I had to crack open Callie are attacking my brain and it takes the authoritative bass of Richard's voice to cut through my thoughts. I stutter some response and he looks at me askance but I don't explain. The Scientist has taken over, and it is she that wheels the patient up to OR 3 for an emergency surgery. I take a moment before looking over at the scrub nurse and hold out my hand to begin.

"Scalpel."

………………………….

It's five in the morning when I finally drag myself home and stumble through the door. I carelessly drop my purse on the table near the door and toss my keys in the dish. I head up the stairs and open the door. Callie's still awake, and reading a book. She glances up, narrows her eyes at me then continues reading.

Okay.

That's it.

I walk over to where she is and nimbly pick the book from her hands.

"That is _not_ cute. I was reading that-!"

"Shut up and listen," I say. Her mouth closes and she leans back, crossing her arms.

"I need to go to my mother's funeral. I need to. Not just to keep up appearances, but… look, I just need to," I continue. Her expression softens a little and her arms uncross. That's a good sign.

"And..." I shrug helplessly, a rueful smile finding its way onto my face. My vision blurs, and I hate myself for losing control of my emotions.

"I can't- I'm not strong enough….without you… So I need…" But I can't say anymore. The thick lump in my throat sees to that. She doesn't speak, doesn't even show that she knows I'm having a break down over here. Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best idea. Maybe I should just to back to the trusty on-call room on the third floor and-

"Erica…shut up," she sighs, leaning forward and kissing me. Her lips are soft- so soft and I could jump and laugh like a fool for how good, how _right _this feels. Her thumbs brush away my tears and we both lean back a little. We don't say sorry; both of us know how the other feels so there's no real need. I kiss her again, my hands cupping her face. God, I've missed this; as if in acknowledgment of that fact, my heart chortles and feels like a warm ember in my chest. It's a nice respite from it feeling like someone ran over it with a truck then backed up and ran over it once more for malice.

I hear Callie's slight moan and feel her hands deftly slipping under my jacket and blouse. My skin breaks out in goose bumps at her touch and an expectant shiver winds itself through me. She pushes me back onto the bed and straddles me comfortably. Her eyes are dark and sparkling and she sits up and, painfully slow, pulls up her shirt. She tosses it over her shoulder and I lean forward, fully in the intention to capture her lips again.

Apparently, once again, my body has other plans. My lower back suddenly yowls with pain and I hiss and groan, falling back onto the mattress with a defeated sigh. There's something incredibly iniquitous about surgeries that last almost as long as half a day.

Callie simply laughs and gives me one quick kiss before speaking.

"Rough day?"

"You have no idea."

Something in my tone sobers her and she nods, sitting back again the headboard and pulling me with her.

"Tell me about it."

And I do.

I tell her about the aortic dissection; how absolutely terrified I was back then; how I remembered in perfect clarity the shade of red that was blurred by tears. My voice begins to crack near the end, despite my best efforts. She kisses me and her arms tighten around me in a reassuring hug. I dimly realize I'm trembling but she doesn't say anything about it. Instead she tucks us both in and I lean into the comforting grasp of her arms. She kisses me once on the neck then snuggles contentedly against me. I can pick up the scent of her cherry-vanilla shampoo and I know that I've come home.

Officially.


End file.
